It's All Greek
by coffeelatte
Summary: Suzuki Nanao had only intended on being Atobe Keigo's partner for the greek project to raise her grade - she'd never planned on being his excuse to delay an arranged marriage; for the love of god, the biggest drama she'd ever had in her life was finishing her homework before eight-! AtobeOC. Mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **PLEASE READ** As some of you may know, I kind of swore off AtobeOC fics after My Kouhai, Your Kouhai, just because it was hard to pair Atobe with anyone other than Ayaka – but I decided to give another AtobeOC a chance, to explore some different sides to Atobe's character, and I ended up pairing him with an OC completely different from Ayaka. It's gonna be a little funky, I suppose, and I know you may get the impression of a terrible cliché from the summary…

…and that's absolutely true. I shamelessly admit, I'm the queen of terrible clichés. HAHA. But I'll be hoping to put my own 'coffeelatte spin' on it, and make it enjoyable for those who decide to give this read a chance.

But please read and leave me a review as to your thoughts, because I'd really like to know how this comes across as, especially after my most recent fics, MKYK and Rising Ambitions. Bahaha!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

Hyotei Gakuen was an academy recognized on the national level for its sheer prestige – known as a school for the wealthy, by the wealthy, it was an elite school on all levels: academia, athletics and everything else in between. Its students were more often than not privileged beyond compare and those whom had had the fortune – or misfortune – to meet a Hyotei student always, always had one common thing to say: "They're…_different."_

And different, indeed.

Hyotei students were, despite a life of splendor and powerful financial backing, amongst the most competitive scholars to be found in all fronts. They lived in a different realm than those of most others, with different standards and far different expectations than the average Japanese teenager – and the school accommodated them in such a fashion.

For Suzuki Nanao, that meant being enrolled in a foreign languages class such as _Greek_, rather than the 'English' that most students took – because, apparently, in Hyotei Gakuen, it was an expected _precursor_ that students knew that language. And for Nanao, the phrase 'it's all Greek to me' was _literal_, because, well- she was horribly, terribly helpless at the subject. Which was terrible, given that she wasn't used to a class where she did so horrendously that the teacher even came to _abhor_ her presence.

Of course, she also had the luck to sit next to Atobe Keigo, star student on all fronts, and a particular favorite of Takamura-sensei, the Greek teacher. Atobe, who spoke seven different languages with fluid ease and knew the nuances of Greek grammar even better than the class's teacher. It wouldn't be so bad, sitting next to the boy that most girls would _die_ and give their organs away to sit next to, if it weren't for the fact that she paled terribly in comparison to his reading skills.

Takamura-sensei often had them open up their Greek literature textbooks and read aloud, paragraph by paragraph, row by row; sitting next to Atobe Keigo meant reading _right after_ Atobe had, in his flawless accent and pronunciation. Nanao, for a lack of a better term, sounded like a _moron_ in her broken, pathetic attempts at the language.

Ah, there he was now, standing up with an elegance unparalleled by any boy she'd seen, one hand holding the book deftly up to his eyes:

"_The wrath sing, goddess, of Peleus' son, Achilles, that destructive wrath which brought countless woes upon the Achaeans, and sent forth to Hades many valiant souls of heroes, and made them themselves spoil for dogs and every bird; thus the plan of Zeus came to fulfillment, from the time when first they parted in strife Atreus' son, king of men, and brilliant Achilles."_

Perfect pronunciation, enunciation, rhythm, dictation- the Greek flowed forth from his tongue as though from a native, in lurid syllables and beautiful sound. French may be the language of romance, but Atobe's Greek was the language of beauty.

"Suzuki-san." The teacher commanded her entry with a swift, sharp look, and Nanao felt her cheeks paling as they often did in class.

Atobe slid smoothly back into his seat beside her, and resumed observing his nails as though this class required hardly any of his attention at all. Nanao found herself torn between envy and awe and pathetic desperation as she observed him out of the corner of her eyes – he glanced up at her, then, and Nanao looked away in a hurried blush.

"Any time now, Suzuki-san," the teacher sighed loudly.

Nanao flushed, and grappled with her book. A few snickers swept through the class.

"_Who the- the… _then_ of the gods was it that bring- brought these two together to contend? The son of Leto and Zeus; for he in anger against the ka- _king_ roused throughout the host an evil pestilence, and the people began to perish, because upon the priest Chryses the son of Atreus had wrought dishonor-"_

Nanao stumbled over the words, brows constantly raised in a show of cluelessness; how _any_ of these symbols made sense to anyone was beyond her. Why any of them were required to take this class, too, was beyond her knowledge. Her words were spaced apart to allow time for her to process the next series of alien characters, and in that awkward silence, students whispered distracted conversations amongst themselves.

Nanao peeked up to take a glance at Takamura-sensei, and her heart sank when she saw him cover his eyes in exasperation.

"_For he had come to the swift ships of the Achaeans to free his-"_

"Suzuki-san, please, stop- at this rate, the remainder of class time will be spent on you learning to read the Greek alphabet all over again as you attempt to decipher this particular passage."

Red crept over Nanao's cheeks.

"Atobe-kun, if you would please?"

"Certainly."

And as Nanao crept into her seat, Atobe rose with a flourish and hardly a bat of an eye.

"_For he had come to the swift ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, bearing ransom past counting; and in his hands he held the wreaths of Apollo who strikes from afar, on a staff of gold; and he implored all the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus, the marshallers of the people: Sons of Atreus, and other well-greaved Achaeans, to you may the gods who have homes upon Olympus grant that you sack the city of Priam, and return safe to your homes; but my dear child release to me, and accept the ransom out of reverence for the son of Zeus, Apollo who strikes from afar."_

Perfection.

* * *

"For the love of all things _holy_, that girl would make the Greek gods want to commit suicide." Gakuto accentuated his comment with a dramatic roll of his eyes and a loud huff, dark red hair fluttering in the breeze as he gave an entertaining leap onto the chair. From beside him, Oshitari spared him a momentary glance from his latest romance novel, amusement dancing in blue eyes.

"I'm rather surprised she made it all the way to Greek III with those verbal skills," he commented, though his voice was idle; his attention, after all, was captured by the plight of poor Ginta-kun in his conquest for Amari's affections in the raving tale of _The Dark Rose._

"I seriously want to scream whenever she's picked on to read – don't you think, Atobe?"

At last, Atobe looked up from his cup of coffee, brows temporarily lifting from their continual frown. His cup of formerly-fresh brewed coffee had lost its steam by now, untouched, in front of his idle hands on the cafeteria table. He blinked at Gakuto, before: "Ahn? What was that?"

Oshitari looked up from his book. "You're distracted today," he observed quietly, and pushed his glasses up his nose with his third finger.

At that, Atobe's lips curved into the familiar smirk most had already long-since memorized. "Nonsense, Yuushi."

"As I was _saying_," Gakuto continued loudly. "I'm bringing a pair of earplugs to the next class, because if I have to hear her attempt to read the _Iliad_ again, I'm going to stab myself."

Atobe chuckled.

Oshitari's eyes remained focused on Atobe.

* * *

Hyotei Gakuen's boys' tennis club was always something worth seeing. A club with well over four hundred members, _not_ including the official _fanclub_ on campus, it was easily one of the best teams in the nation, ranked somewhere between third and fourth every year across Japan. Each day during club practice hours, the courts were _swarmed_ with a sea of raving girls – and some guys – pressed against the court fences, eyes wide and lungs shrieking out various names of the tennis regulars. And over all the names screamed out by avid teenage girls, one name seemed to be the general consensus: _Atobe Keigo._

A figure stood at the top of the massively tall bleachers, eclipsed by the brilliant sun, a jacket billowing from his shoulders. One foot stood propped on the seat, and one foot firmly on the flooring of the bleacher levels; an arm was raised, fingers poised to-

_Snap!_

Ah, there it was.

Immediately, the cheering stopped in an impressive display of obedience.

"The winner will be…" the figure drawled, languidly, as though the entire dimension of space and time were waiting upon his precious, precious words. A thrilled anticipation hung in the air despite the fact that these words were the very ones he repeated _every day_ without fail-

"Hyotei."

The area erupted into cheers and screams even _louder_ than before.

From just one level down, Shishido raised a bewildered gaze to Atobe's smirking figure, and rolled his eyes in disbelief. Seriously; he'd been the captain of Hyotei Gakuen's tennis team since their _middle school_ years – didn't these girls know by damn heart what he was going to say? The line _never fucking changed_ – it was always "The winner will be Hyotei," or some variation of it containing Atobe's lines.

How Atobe got the entire female population of the school to scream and keel over as though they had just been exposed to some hallucination drug every day with the _same words_ was beyond him, but hey-

"Don't those girls have a _life_?"

Shishido's eyes flitted to Hiyoshi, who was in the midst of grumbling quietly to himself as he tied his shoes. After five years of hearing thousands of girls scream every day, without fail, to the same line had its downsides – like exasperation, for one.

"It's like they've never seen a self-absorbed, grey-haired boy before," Shishido added-

-and was rewarded with the prompt drop of Atobe's jersey jacket upon his head until it covered his eyes. Shishido threw it off with a splutter and a: "Atobe!"

Atobe deigned him with a haughty look and a sniff. "Oh, Shishido – Ore-sama didn't see you there. He makes it a point not to acknowledge whining plebeians."

Shishido's eyes flattened, as did his lips, into a thin line. One would expect that after five years of friendship, and starting on the sixth, the guy would have a little more respect for them; apparently not, if his continual usage of the 'Ore-sama' term wasn't letting up. On that note, Shishido would like to ask the universe in _what sane world_ was a teenager allowed to go around calling himself _Ore-sama_ and not suffer extreme social consequences?

In fact, the whole 'arrogant bastard' thing seemed to work out pretty well for Atobe, if his hoard of screaming fangirls was any indication. The guy even had _stalkers_.

"When has Atobe's popularity ever been anything new?" Oshitari's voice floated into the fray, nose still wedged between the pages of his book. _That too_, Shishido wanted to point out_, was fucking weird._ He still didn't understand how a blue-haired kid with a strange accent and an obsessive affinity for romance novels managed to maintain the level of popularity with the female population as Oshitari did, either.

In fact, he didn't understand how _any_ of the regulars on the boys' team was so popular to the point where they all received over _three large bags_ of Valentine's chocolate whenever the occasion arose.

Jiroh was hardly awake long enough for the girls to hand over their chocolate – and when he did, it was hard to tell when he was still lingering in his dream or not, so it was more like dealing with some half-drugged up child than a sane, normal teenage boy.

Oshitari had such a flirtatious nature that he could probably tell you the body measurements of all the pretty girls in the school, and was more interested in the next romance novel from his library than from anything else.

Choutarou, he could _kind_ of understand, even if the boy had a tendency to stutter and insist that the chocolate was too kind of a gesture for him to deserve and accept.

Hiyoshi was- well, Shishido was rather sure that he would grow up into the kind of guy who'd glare even at the girl he _married_, muttering about "Gekokujo" no matter what the situation.

Kabaji…Kabaji was _Kabaji_, and his entire vocabulary consisted of 'Usu' – his life's goal, in addition, was the pleasing of Atobe's every offhanded whim.

He _really_ didn't understand Atobe's popularity, despite the boy's delusion that he was possibly the greatest gift from the Heavens to mankind, and his attitude that reflected said belief.

In fact, Shishido determined as he watched the regulars frolic around the field in another display of their strange, vile tendencies – he wasn't even sure why _he_ was friends with them.

* * *

Oshitari Yuushi had known Atobe for a long time – and he was no fool. It wasn't exactly easy to discern Atobe's specific mood at a given time when the other boy was quite the talented actor (possibly from a childhood under the strictest father Oshitari's ever heard of), but after five years, Oshitari thinks he's gotten it down to the point where he could tell if Atobe had something weighing on his mind. Like the way he did now.

In fact, even those who didn't know him as well as Oshitari did could have been able to discern this with a little attention. Atobe, after all, didn't often insert _seven teaspoons of sugar_ into the Earl Grey tea he usually preferred with just one. Nor did he ever pass up an opportunity to insert himself into a conversation with a quip of his _everlasting glory_, but so far, Oshitari had counted up to four possibilities, none of which Atobe had taken.

And _that_ was usually a good indicator that his mind was preoccupied.

Oshitari placed his chin in his hand, and with that mild smile of his, presented a friendly expression to Atobe. "What's on your mind, Kei-chan?"

Atobe raised a brow at him, the corners of his lips momentarily twitching. "Don't act cute with me, Yuushi. It's disturbing."

Oshitari smiled back. "A penny for your thoughts?"

Ah, _that_ had Atobe paying attention. The male straightened in his seat, the bottom of his chair scraping lightly against the concrete. "Ore-sama's thoughts are worth _far more_ than a mere penny, Yuushi."

"Of course."

Atobe swirled the silver spoon in his delicate china cup once, twice, three times, and until the spinning whirl in the liquid had become so strong as to move the spoon around on its own. He sighed, then, and the sunlight filtering in from the greenhouse's glass ceiling struck him in such a fashion that he'd have loved to have the moment photographed.

"Father says it's time to select a marriage partner."

The admission was so uncharacteristically quiet of Atobe's normally confident, clear diction that Oshitari nearly missed it. He raised a sharp brow. "Already?"

Atobe's lips pursed. "It wasn't supposed to happen until after perhaps a year or two in college, but- you know how he gets. The Hanazonos already selected a partner for their son, apparently, and father so does hate to lose in such trivial matters." Another sigh, a half-hearted glance at perfectly curved nails.

Oshitari returned a level gaze. "And you…"

"…will not disobey Father, if that's what you're implying," Atobe finished neatly, a look in his eyes that spoke of his disapproval. After all, Oshitari should have known him better by now.

Atobe was a terribly willful person, but he was obedient towards his father, if no one else. He possessed wealth beyond that of even the top _one percent_ in Japan's high society, and though he was often portrayed as an impossibly spoiled teen, it was only because he _deserved_ it. His father had always raised him in a 'success-and-reward' basis, after all; excellent grades and brilliant achievements lent themselves to bottomless wallets and sparkling castles under his name.

A single drop in rank resulted in proverbial lock-down (because Atobe's didn't do such a common thing as _grounding_, heaven forbid) until the results were raised to their former spotless perfection.

Oshitari Yuushi may be a tensai, but Atobe Keigo was an _Atobe_, and even he had only managed to overcome Atobe in school-wide rankings a handful of times.

"It's not the marriage that's bothering me – it's not as though I'd ever had any delusions about selecting my own partner. It makes sense to select a partner based on financial and social requirements, given my standing; most marriages don't work out as happily ever after, anyway."

Oshitari begged to differ, but he supposed that Atobe wouldn't appreciate his bringing the plight of courageous Ginta-kun and Amari-chan into his _reality_.

"I'd just thought I'd have a few more years before having to act as an engaged man."

Ahhh, _there_ it was.

Oshitari should have guessed earlier. Atobe, after all, for all his frivolities and dramatizations, had always been an _Atobe._ And though people may not see past the sparkles and silken shirts, it was hard for Atobe to forget the weight of his own name – he had been _groomed_ to be the man who would take the lead reigns of what was perhaps Japan's largest company. In fact, Oshitari couldn't think of a business venue the Atobe's _didn't_ have their hands in – travel, hotel chains, department stores, real estate-

And Atobe would be the king of such an empire following a prestigious college education. His name was, essentially, his identity.

But at least for now, he had the excuse of youth to account for complete freedom in activities, so long as it didn't interfere with his spotless image. A marriage proposal would, he suppose, change all that in an easy snap.

For Atobe, a marriage really _would_ be a ball-and-chain, Oshitari noted, not without some level of amusement. But again, he didn't think that Atobe would appreciate his taste in humor, so-

* * *

"Class, we have a new project."

Immediately, the class of twenty-four drowned in a chorus of identical groans. Takamura-sensei rolled his eyes from the podium, silencing the teens with a swat of his arm. "It's a _partner project_, you lazy bums."

The groans morphed into cheers.

"But _I'll_ be selecting your partners – randomly."

Groans.

Nanao sat in her seat, wide-eyed and heart fluttering with anticipation. Oh, please, _please_, let her have a smart partner who was _not_ in danger of receiving below a seventy-five percent in the class! If karma had any hold over the universe, Nanao figured that she'd have _some_ luck in this random draw; for the love of god, she was a good Samaritan, and a straight-edge student who followed all the rules. The universe wouldn't, she pleaded, as Takamura-sensei rattled off names one after the other, be so cruel as to-

"Suzuki Nanao-"

The entire class held their breaths in an anticipation to _avoid_ being paired with the girl who infamously butchered the Greek language to the point where Takamura-sensei had _shed tears_ that one class-

"-and Atobe Keigo."

A deathly silence seized the room.

Nanao turned bulging – and _fearful_ – eyes to the boy sitting beside her. Atobe hardly spared her a glance, or for that matter, hardly twitched in his overall countenance of calm. Instead, he languidly extended an arm to _snap_, and at that, a random student sitting in the front row rushed to snatch the assignment guidelines from the teacher's offering hand, and ran it back to Atobe's waiting one.

His eyes scanned the text. "It's surprisingly simple," he drawled.

With that line, everything crashed back from its previous suspended position in Nanao's body – her stomach, her guts, her _heart._ Relief, _overwhelming relief_, and a dizzying sense of elation filled her head. There was a strange tug of apprehension to be working with _the_ legendary Atobe Keigo (despite her having known him since her first year in middle school, it was more like that of a normal citizen knowing _of_ a celebrity), but the relief that she'd gotten paired with the top student in the class washed over it all.

Karma was good, after all!

"Ore-sama has practice until four, but he shall see you at his estate promptly at four-thirty. Ore-sama prefers not to dawdle or procrastinate on projects; be on time."

Nanao hardly had time to register the words before Atobe's attention was diverted by Oshitari, who sat on his other side. She nodded vigorously anyway, and she caught Oshitari's amused glance when he saw her nodding to nobody in particular past Atobe's head.

* * *

Suzuki Nanao wasn't _poor_, or anything – she was average, she supposed, on Hyotei's standards. Her family was well-known in the upper crust circles with more prestige to their name than wealth, but it wasn't as though her father's chain of popular hotels was anything shabby, either. Of course, compared to the likes of _Atobe_ or _Oshitari_, she didn't really measure up, but even then – she was in the upper half of Hyotei's student population.

It was hard to notice past her usually quiet demeanor, but she was a pretty girl, too. She had surprisingly light-colored hair for a Japanese (even then, it was nothing like the strange colors of the boys on the tennis team, though – just more of a dark auburn), waved in large, rolling curves towards her elbows, and a constant wide-eyed look to her features. When she smiled, she was rather girlishly pretty, though she fell rather short in terms of her goals for reaching 5'4.

She was, as people would describe her, an 'eager student.' She followed the rules, unlike Atobe – who practically _made_ the rules at Hyotei. She usually had straight A's, and her priority was often studying above all else – as well as student council duties, as the Vice President this year. She'd been secretary last year, when Atobe had been President, though she doubted Atobe remembered her (he'd chosen not to run again this year, because apparently some hellish first year brat was due to enter the high school tennis circuit this year and he had to focus on his team – whatever _that_ meant). Nanao was the bubbly kind of girl one would expect to be in charge of welcoming new students, far too enthusiastic about school and school-sanctioned activities.

With her over-involvement in school activities and as a part of the student council, Nanao could be called mildly popular; of course, next to practical legends like, again, Atobe and Oshitari, she rather paled.

After all, the boys' tennis team regulars weren't 'popular,' for such a term was too weak to support such a massive frenzy that the students of Hyotei seemed to have for them.

In any case, Nanao was by no means poor, or even average – but she had a difficult time keeping her jaw off the floor upon being ushered into the Atobes' sitting room by a well-aged butler dressed in a formal uniform (who looked like the stereotypical 'Sebastian' household staff). Luxury spewed from every nook and cranny in the elegant abode, which she was sure was at least four times the size of her own home; five-star hotels, in fact, appeared _modest_ in comparison.

And it wasn't furnished in the kind of gaudy, in-your-face sort of luxury, either. It was more of an understated, regal style, where those who _really_ knew the value of extremely high-priced objects would be able to identify the true price of such a home.

Shortly after, Atobe arrived at his own house, followed shortly by Oshitari, who apparently spent many afternoons in the Atobe estate due to its library's wide selection of romance novels. He had the librarian to thank, for she, too, shared his love of such literature-

-and yes, the Atobe estate did have its own private library, and employed a full-time librarian to take care of all the precious bindings within.

Atobe had paused by the doorway, mild approval flitting through his glance. "Ore-sama approves of your promptness," he declared in a tone fit for a king speaking to his reverent subjects.

Nanao wasn't quite sure how to react – so she only nodded enthusiastically, and offered a smile. Atobe swept past her to seat himself on the sofa, long legs coming to cross over one another. Oshitari smiled in amusement at her obvious awe, and moved past her, too, to sit beside Atobe, book in hand.

"So, Atobe-kun – it's quite a lovely house, you have," she began, bright, cheery, and for a moment, Atobe paused to stare at her.

"Of course it is," he replied, and Nanao faltered for a moment.

Oshitari almost snickered. Most people weren't quite sure how to handle Atobe's forwardness, after all, and his manner of almost _expecting_ compliments. Then again, most people weren't exactly sure how to handle Atobe, period.

…Nice legs, Oshitari glanced at her figure in a matter of seconds. He was the master of assessing a girl's body measurements in but a single glance, as he was quite proud to claim.

"U-Um. So. I actually drafted a few possibilities for the project, because, you know, I really wanted to contribute, even though I'm really bad at Greek. I drew out diagrams and plans out here-" A shuffle of papers. "-and if you would look through them, you could pick one – or I mean, I could come up with a new one-"

Eager girl, Oshitari noted. He inserted himself into the conversation smoothly: "Ah, sorry Suzuki-san, but Keigo and I were in the middle of discussing something; would you mind terribly if we finished it up?"

Nanao froze, before: "Oh, sure! No problem – I'll just be reading over the assigned text, then."

_That will take you a while_, Oshitari noted in his head, before turning to Atobe.

"So. As I was saying. If you _really_ don't want to, then there are always ways-"

Nanao turned to a page in her textbook and attempted to decipher the series of characters. Of course, it rather caught her off guard that the two continued to carry on what seemed to be a rather private conversation with her there, but then again-

-perhaps she wasn't even a presence important enough to be considered. After all, the Hyotei tennis boys had always seemed to be in a world of their own. The rest of the school were simply spectators invited to look into their glass dome, and they were separated from their peers by a roaring abyss of-

Nanao wasn't sure what it was. Impossible popularity? Confidence? Charm? Looks? It was, most likely, a combination of all three.

The boys were, as she often observed (in that strange way of hers), so confident in who they were, in their very positions in society, that they hardly ever had to entertain normal modes of social conduct. They were free to be themselves, in their freakiest, strangest, quirkiest of ways, and society accepted _that_ as the standard of 'cool,' and they, in turn, were free of having to change their behavior even in the slightest in an attempt to match what was normally deemed sociably acceptable.

They, in short, _set_ and _created_ the guidelines for what it meant to be 'cool' and 'popular,' not the other way around, as it most often was.

They were so staggeringly confident as a result of this, that when one shared a room with one of the Hyotei tennis boys, one had to remember – that this was _their_ stage, _their _kingdom, and that the rest of them were simply jesters invited to entertain the kings in their court.

It was a rather frightening thought, but, well, Nanao had a tendency to like to observe and analyze things a little too much for her own good. And in her past five years of experiencing being the boys' peers, this was what she'd reached as a conclusion.

"Yuushi, I'm _fine._ It simply caught me off guard a little, that's all."

Nanao caught the 'I,' and marveled at how close they must be for Atobe to drop the all-famous 'Ore-sama.'

"It's clearly bothering you-"

"I think I'd know what bothered me and what didn't."

Nanao heard Oshitari sigh, then the faint rustlings of paper as a book was opened. "Suit yourself, Keigo."

A pause.

Oshitari chuckled quietly to himself. "You know, I did read a book the other day about a man getting a fake girlfriend to escape the clutches of some-"

_Pause._

"That's not such a bad idea, Keigo."

Nanao was trying very hard, now, not to appear as though she were actually listening in.

A snort. "That has got to be the silliest suggestion I've ever-"

"Why not? It's not as if your father will make you _marry_ the girl, Keigo; he's strict, but he's not cruel. He'll understand it's a passing teenage fancy, but he'll at least push the date back to after high school graduation, when he assumes your relationship will end."

"That's completely absurd. I don't need a _fake girlfriend_ – do you know _who I am._ I'm Atobe Keigo, Yuushi."

"Yes, my five years' experience in being in the same class as you has enlightened me to that particular fact."

"Don't get cheeky with me. The idea of Atobe Keigo with a fake girlfriend in it of itself is insane-"

"Is it? Because, god forbid you ever like anyone but your _own reflection_-"

Nanao almost burst out in laughter.

"Well it's not my fault that I'm clearly overqualified to be _anyone_'s match."

"That's not the point. You don't even have to _really_ date her; just _pretend_ to. It's not so bad – I'm sure there are floods of girls who would be willing to."

"Of course there would be."

"But she'd have to be at least qualified enough so that you father wouldn't make you put an end to it because she was _disgraceful."_

"Certainly."

"Pretty. But not _too_ pretty, else it attract too much attention – you know, Hyotei's 'golden couple,' as the silly people have a way with coming up with silly nicknames for everything."

"Yuushi, any relationship _I'm_ in is far above the level of _gold._ Platinum, perhaps."

"Good family. Wealthy, of course. Respectable standing in both society and school."

"That's a given."

"Well then – why don't we go through a list of the senior class girls?"

"…I did _not_ agree to this."

"Oh, Keigo, it'll be fun."

"My idea of fun is a tennis match."

"The last 'fun tennis match' ended with you having your head shaved by Echizen."

"_Do not_ bring up his name to me."

"I'm just reminding you, Keigo dear."

"Cheekiness is unbecoming on you, Yuushi."

"Why ever _not_? There's nothing to lose, really. As long as it's not a random tramp off the streets, the media won't hound _your_ reputation. And your father will most certainly at least prolong the inevitable until the end of high school, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course – my father is most generous, as I am-"

"See? Nothing to lose. It's a simple calculation of cost-benefit analysis. I'm sure economics must have taught you _that_ much."

"Don't attempt to goad me."

By this time, Nanao's eyes had grown impossibly large. Was this the nature of most of their conversations? Why, just a mere ten minutes into the lives of Atobe and Oshitari-kun, and she was already reminded exactly how different from the average teen they were.

Fake girlfriends – my, _my_, their lives must really be exciting, and all!

"…Perhaps it's not such a bad idea."

A flash of pearly whites. "You may have me bested in school-wide exams, but I'm still the _tensai_."

"Right. So is Seigaku's Fuji."

"_That_ tensai is a right sadistic maniac – don't group me in the same category with him. There are two kinds of geniuses: the brilliantly mentally endowed, and the manic. He's of the latter."

"And which one are you?"

A pointed stare. "In any case – this shall be quite fun, no?"

"Not fun. _Beneficial._"

"So. How about her?"

"Who?"

"The girl sitting conveniently in your sitting room."

At 'the girl sitting conveniently in your sitting room,' Nanao wondered if it could possibly be _her_ they were talking about. She took a furtive glance around in the room – and upon confirming that yes, she was indeed the only female sitting in the room, snapped up with wide eyes.

"Ah – she was listening. Excellent. No need to bother with wasting time on explanations, then?" Oshitari smiled widely at her, and Nanao swore she saw a strange glint in his glasses.

"Certainly not her – her murder of the Greek language is most _foul_," Atobe sighed dramatically, as though even the memory of her attempting to read the_ Iliad_ physically pained him.

Nanao had the decency to blush.

"Ah, but; I don't think there are many characters whom one could trust to remain _levelheaded_ about being the girlfriend of the great Atobe Keigo. Given that she hasn't thrown herself at your feet and asked to bear your children, I think she's one of the few, Keigo."

"Oh – that is true. The women _do_ quite love me, don't they?"

"They do," Oshitari replied in a strangely indulgent voice.

"Perhaps."

"She's also on the student council, you know – rather respectable, don't you think?"

"Ah – is she?"

"I believe she was the secretary last year."

"Oh, I do think I remember her now, faintly."

"See? Familiar, too. A well-rounded choice. Besides. There's an easy incentive for her cooperation and pledge to silence."

At this moment, Nanao entertained the idea of speaking up. After all, unless she was mistaken – which she doubted she was – this was _her_ they were discussing. And, well, Nanao wasn't- She wasn't quite keen on the idea of being _Atobe Keigo's fake girlfriend_; in fact, those four words alone were wrong on so many levels she couldn't even count them all.

"I, um. I- I'd rather not, please," Nanao managed to say, eyes flickering between Atobe and Oshitari.

"Nonsense," Atobe countered smoothly, as though her words were of no consequence whatsoever.

"Don't you have a seventy-eight in the class, Suzuki-san?"

It was Oshitari who had spoken – there was an eerie tone to his voice, one that implied that he knew something _she didn't_, one that was all-too sure that the outcomes would be in his favor. At that, Nanao chilled.

"How did you know-"

Oshitari pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Oh, it's not hard to find such trivial matters out."

Her grades were _not_, she wanted to say, _trivial matters. _But then, who would ever say otherwise to _Oshitari Yuushi_? Instead, she kept her mouth shut, obediently silent.

"You do know that this project accounts for nearly ten percent of our overall grade, Suzuki-san?"

Nanao nodded – of course she did. Why else would she have been so _elated_ at her partnership with Atobe Keigo, who was sure to get a hundred percent? It would raise her into the furtively safe 'B' zone, and-

"You do have an intent on keeping your honor roll status?"

Another nod.

"Well. As you know, Keigo has well over a hundred percent in the class; and, well, losing ten percent won't do much to his grade, seeing as how he could easily raise it within a few weeks, anyway."

Pause.

"But a ten percent deduction to _your_ grade, Suzuki-san, would be quite unfortunate, wouldn't it?"

Nanao's eyes widened. _There was no way_. They couldn't be- He wasn't _threatening_ her, was he? That was _insane._ In fact, the entire situation was mad as anything could be-

"Now. I'd say that the cost-benefit analysis for _you_ would most certainly be in the favor of participating in our little play, don't you think?" A kind, benevolent wide smile from Oshitari's lips, and Nanao had to fight back shivers.

"Are you- I don't- Are you threatening me?" Nanao finally managed, jaw slacking, eyes widening even more.

"Threaten is such an ugly word, Suzuki-san."

Smile.

Nanao's eyes darted to Atobe – who was busy observing his reflection in the teacup before him, as though none of this were of any importance at all.

_No way._

"You can't do that!" she finally said helplessly, palms upturned.

"Ore-sama can do anything," Atobe inserted, placing his teacup down with a gentle thud. "Besides, who would be crazy enough to reject the chance to be the fake girlfriend of _Ore-sama_?"

Did _anyone_ in this room realize how wrong that statement was, on how many levels, beside herself?

"It would be utmost wise of you to agree, Suzuki-san," Oshitari added with a brilliant smile.

_Just do it_, her mind whispered. _Who cares? It's your grade._

Was that what she'd been reduced to? Selling herself for her grades?

_Stop being dramatic. You're not selling yourself, just _pretending _to._

But it was insane – this sort of thing didn't even happen in dramas!

_You always said your life could do with a little more of drama. For the love of god, the biggest thrill you get out of life half the time is when you manage to finish your schoolwork before nine._

Oh, that really was sad.

_See? Besides, it's _Atobe Keigo._ Think of it as something you can put on your resume._

She probably could, couldn't she? After all, it was _Atobe Keigo._

_You moron, accept it before they think you're braindead_-

"I- Okay!"

…What had she just said?

* * *

**A/N:** So? How was it? Okay? Terrible? Painful? HAHAHA. No, seriously. Please review and tell me how it is because I have no clue. BAHAHA.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Fast update is fast. HEHEHE. Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed – really, reviews do mean a lot! At the bottom, I'll be replying to the reviews. Ohoho. And, again, please review this chapter, too, and tell me what you think!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

KL93: Oh, gosh, thanks a lot – and hahaha thanks for being the first reviewer of this fic! Hehe.

BloodyRose021: Oh, I know her reaction was surprisingly easily won – but there's a reason as to why she was so complacent, that will be explained later on in the story. Hehe. And yes, I grew rather attached to Ayaka, but I wanted to explore Atobe's character a little more, and pair him with a character who wasn't as volatile as Atobe. BAHAHA. And, oh god, I love Oshitari too. As you read more, I hope you'll tell me what you think of this new OC – Nanao. Hehe.

Shubhs: Ah, I'm glad – I'm really working hard on making this terribly cliché sound realistic. HAHA. And thanks so much for reviewing and reading!

Guest: Ah, ah, as the summary says, this is completely an AtobeOC fic – though Oshitari _will_ play a large part. Hehe. And thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

Coco96: Awwww you're so sweet. I hope to make this cliché out to be enjoyable! Tell me what you think as the fic progresses, ohoho.

Divine Psyche: EEEE, ask and you shall receive! I shall let Noriko and Yukimura wait a little in favor of this fic. BAHA. And thanks so much for reading and reviewing!

A Midsummer: Yes, yes, there are some strange oddities to her personality that will be explained later on, hehehe. And, ooh, you've read MKYK too? Haha, oh gosh – do tell me how you think this measures up as the story progresses, yes? And thanks for reading and reviewing!

Symbalin: Well, they _are_ quite elegant men, no? BAHAHA. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

SunnyDorangeJuice: Ahahaha, Nanao's actually a bit stronger-willed than she lets on – there's a reason she got so easily bullied into the whole thing. Ohoho. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing.

Night Neko-Jin: I absolutely adore your reviews – they're honestly so sweet and make me smile. Ehehe. And I'm really glad Nanao came across as likeable; I do work to make my OCs as relatable and likeable as possible. Hehe. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! They make me giggle. Hehe.

Magicalnana: I'm really glad you find it realistic and nicely developed, baha. I do hope you'll continue to read and review. –Heart-

Fierce Naga: Haha I'll keep that in mind! And aww, thanks. Thanks for reading and reviewing, too. Hehe.

Lahdolphin: Eek. I lub you bbgurl. You mai homie 5ever. HAHAHAHAHA.

* * *

Nanao didn't know what kind of a person Atobe was – she'd heard rumors, to be sure, but how many people ever got to really _meet_ Atobe? He was like a celebrity on the grounds of the campus; a figure comparable to that of a king, and they, the student body, were simply members of his kingdom. Commoners, after all, didn't much often meet royalty.

Nanao hadn't really held many expectations, other than something grand and fierce and to be reckoned with, when she'd first known that she'd be paired up with Atobe Keigo for the Greek project. She hadn't known, either, that Atobe and Oshitari were a package sort of deal. And she _definitely_ hadn't known that she'd end up being Atobe's excuse to delay an arranged marriage-

-in fact, even as she thought of it now, it seemed _ridiculous._ Arranged marriages, for one, weren't so rare in a school such as theirs, where one was usually not simply themselves, but also the heir to large corporation. Children were, as their parents saw, ways to establish firm connections in an ever-changing, fickle society; Atobe Keigo was no exception. In fact, it would have been strange for him _not_ to marry someone of his parents' choosing, given his impossibly high standards and position in society.

But- Really? A _fake girlfriend_? Nanao was no stranger to dramas and mangas and books, but even she had hardly encountered such drastic plots.

Nanao had only ever dated a boy once, back in first year – and that hadn't exactly ended _well._ She simply wasn't cut out for dating, it seemed, with far more interest in her next exam results than the latest kissing technique in the magazines, and the boy had been more interested in the prospect of having a girlfriend than in her.

And now she was to be the fake girlfriend of Atobe _bleeding_ Keigo.

Oh, for the love of-

* * *

Atobe wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation his life had entered as of late. When Oshitari had brought up such a half-cooked plan from one of his frivolous novels, Atobe had hardly spared the idea a second thought; because, simply put, it was _insane._ He wasn't sure if it was the 'genius' thing talking, or simply Oshitari's manic tendencies alone, but as of late, Oshitari's ideas of 'fun' had been getting stranger and stranger.

And, he added with a sniff – Atobe was quite sure that _he_ was bordering on genius, as well, and _he_ didn't suffer from random bouts of _crazy ideas._ His idea of fun was a German novel, or playing with his dog, or enjoying tea in his new garden, or playing _tennis_-

-though tennis brought up other stressful thoughts.

Since the well-known tennis players in their generation had moved up to high school, Atobe had reveled in the absence of one snarky brat from the deepest level of hell – he was busy making a ruckus in the middle school league, still, and Atobe pitied those who had the misfortune of handling him. But now, as they all advanced to their third year, _that brat_ would be climbing up to the first year of high school-

-and no doubt, with his strange obsession for Tezuka, and his dysfunctional relationship with _that Fuji_, he'd be entering Seigaku High.

What was it, Atobe huffed irately, with Seigaku and strange _freaks_? It seemed to be a magnet for odd characters with irritatingly-powerful tennis techniques.

Look at his hair. It was growing even _grayer._ And every time Mukahi delighted in pointing it out, he had to go through the trouble of reminding those subservient morons that it was a regal _silver_, not gray, because Atobe's _didn't do gray._

"Keigo – you wished to speak with me?"

At that, Atobe snapped from his reverie, eyes sharpening into focus onto the figure seated behind the majestic oak table. His father's office had always had the strange ability to make him feel rather _small,_ with the expansive paintings and somber colorings. He had always suspected that his father had done this all on purpose – the old man _was_ strangely fond of asserting his position above others.' "Yes, father."

Atobe Senior hardly spared him a glance from the paperwork on his desk, hand signing precise lines into various documents. Atobe felt the momentary irritation, because when had his father _ever_ spared him his full, undivided attention, unless it was that he wanted Atobe to do something? "Time is money, Keigo – I believe I've taught you not to dawdle."

The tone in his father's voice was unmistakable.

"I wanted to make a request, father," Atobe began slowly, mulling over the thoughts in his head so as not to blunder. "I've long-since been prepared to engage to a girl of you and mother's choosing-" at this, his father spared him a cursory, approving glance. "-but I'd like to request that the engagement be delayed."

At _that_, his father finally put his pen to rest and glanced upwards, a brow raised. Interest and attention had entered his gaze. Atobe found himself oddly satisfied.

It wasn't as though his father was _negligent_ of him, or anything remotely so dramatic – no, it was simply that his father was as busy as a man could possibly get, balancing between the Atobe corporation and societal duties and his duties as a husband and father. He'd never failed to be a caring, if indulgent, father figure, but it wasn't exactly _easy_ to gain his father's approval, nor his full attention.

"Explain." Ah. His father had such the affinity for eloquence, no?

"I won't be as foolish as to claim to _love_ her, nor to have the intention of _marrying_ this girl, father, but I do have, ah, a girlfriend."

His father's brow rose further. The bushy mustache twitched.

"And I'm quite fond of the girl, and it'd break her heart terribly if I broke things off so abruptly. So I'd like to ask for just a delay in the engagement, as we'd originally planned."

His father stared, and for a moment, Atobe wondered if he was _insane_ to have gone along with Oshitari's crazy ramblings.

"You have a girlfriend." It was a statement, more than a question, as his father was oft to say, but Atobe nodded anyway.

"Who is she?"

"Suzuki Nanao."

At the name, his father stilled. "Of the Suzuki Corporations?"

"Yes, sir."

Ah. The Suzukis. To be sure, they hadn't been a match Atobe Senior would have ever considered for Keigo – after all, the Atobes were looking into a girl that would have brought their company certain leverages into new fields. The Suzuki's were vastly wealthy, yes, but not exactly what they'd been looking for.

But whatever they may have lacked in economic efficiency, they made up for in sheer prestige in their name, Atobe Senior amended. In such a modern world, it was hard to find any respectable, traditional families of _old money_ – many of their current peers stood as members of the _noveau rich_ community, whom had only just recently come into their fortune in the past generation or two. They didn't know the importance of _tradition_, of honor, of the true value of _generations_ of high-class upbringing.

Their corporation was moderate, but oddly powerful in a way that many of their gargantuan peers could never hope to match – a reputation and honor that had come with generations deeply rooted in the very foundings of Japan, after all, weren't easily acquired.

Atobe Senior had been meaning to establish a closer connection with the Suzuki's – perhaps this would be a natural segue into such a relationship. Of course, they could well have done so without the two children dating, but-

And if his son, Keigo, had actually taken the time to request of him to push back the engagement, the girl obviously meant quite a bit more than he was letting on, to him.

His peers often called him – Atobe Akihiko – a ruthless, coldhearted business man, whom had a calculator where he should have had a heart. But he honestly wasn't _that_ bad – taking over a failing company to produce it into one of the hundreds of money-producing chains worldwide wasn't _heartless_, for god's sake. And he did have a soft spot for his family; _especially_ if something like this meant something that could benefit the corporation in some way.

A connection with the Suzuki's could be quite desired later on.

Besides, who cared if the Hanazono's son got engaged to one of the girls they'd been perusing for Atobe's engagement? That sly old dog Hanazono still lost terribly to him in poker (in fact, he lost that lovely summer villa Keigo had quite liked one summer), and the Atobe Corporation was still number one.

The engagement, Akihiko supposed, could wait.

"…See to it that when you end this relationship, it is not on bad terms; or better yet, make it so that it is _her_ decision to break it off, in the end."

Atobe paused. And then-

"Keigo, do be quicker about catching on to these things. Time is money, son. Must I say everything aloud?" A sigh, a brush of the mustache.

But Atobe was already gone, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

* * *

"_So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him. Down from the peaks of Olympus he strode, angered at heart, bearing on his shoulders his bow and covered quiver. The arrows rattled on the shoulders of the angry god as he moved, and his coming was like the night. Then he sat down apart from the ships and let fly an arrow: terrible was the twang of the silver bow. The mules he assailed first and the swift dogs, but then on the men themselves he let fly his stinging shafts, and struck; and constantly the pyres of the dead burned thick."_

Atobe looked up from the book – and Nanao promptly burst into sufficiently impressed applause, a smile on her lips. Nanao had quickly come to learn that Atobe Keigo was not someone that one could simply sit around and be content – no, one had to be at the ready, to burst into claps whenever he did something that could be deemed as glorious.

It was a little funny, a little amusing, a little _terrifying_, but Nanao could get used to it.

"Amazing, Atobe-kun! Did you ever live in Greece?"

Atobe promptly gave her an aghast expression, as though the mere suggestion of the idea were _absurd._ "Whatever gave you _that_ idea?"

Nanao faltered. "Well I just- you were so good at Greek that I thought you lived there, or something-"

"Ore-sama _is_ quite good at it, no?"

Nanao laughed quietly into her hand; she wasn't quite sure if Atobe's arrogance was an _act_, simply because it was _just that outrageous._ To be honest, she hadn't decided if she was terrified or hilariously amused by Atobe's grand presence yet, but it seemed to be hovering somewhere in the middle.

"You laugh too much," Atobe announced, tone as imperious as ever.

"And you preen too much," Nanao responded off-handedly, eyes concentrated on the words in her textbook.

Pause.

She realized what she'd just said, and looked up, eyes wide. Her heart fluttered somewhere in her throat. Oh, her father always _did_ say that she wasn't careful enough about what she said-

-she found such an affronted expression on Atobe's expression, that she couldn't help but to burst into laughter again.

"Like Ore-sama said. You, girl, laugh far too much for it to be healthy." Sniff.

Nanao smiled even as she continued to read upon the industrialization of Japan, one hand taking notes on her notebook. The two had met to work on their Greek project, but somehow, it had morphed into more of a 'homework study session.'

"Ah – hey, Atobe-kun?" Nanao dared a question, eyes peeking up at Atobe momentarily.

"Ahn?" His own eyes were concentrating on the literature book handed out in Japanese today.

"I just wanted to ask – um. Ah. Well- Why was it so important that you delay the arranged marriage?"

Atobe's eyes paused from flitting across the text, to glance up at Nanao's inquiring gaze. Nanao stilled, wondering if she'd made a mistake in asking him such an invasive question, because Atobe was _Atobe_, and she still didn't know what was okay and what wasn't-

"Just because," he responded. A smirk spread on his features. "It would be a shame to allow the lovely ladies of Hyotei to fall into despair with Ore-sama being taken off the market, no?"

Nanao pondered whether or not to point out the fact that even if he had been on the market, it wasn't as though he'd have dated any of them, to begin with. That, and: "Well, if it's under the ruse that you and I are dating, doesn't that take you off the market, too?"

Atobe gave her a pointed stare – one that clearly conveyed that her contradictions were not appreciated. Nanao immediately quelled, though not without amusement. "But what's it like? You know, having girls _literally_ scream your name?"

It was such a common thing at Hyotei that it had ceased to be a wonder – but Nanao still remembered their first year of middle school as though it had been yesterday. That sunny, bright day, where Atobe had waltzed into the courts, snapped his fingers, and defeated _all_ the senior regulars in the club. He'd taken over the school since then, and now-

-whenever he entered an area, silence hushed the crowds, and eyes were attracted to him like bees to honey. And when he was in the tennis courts, he was a king before his people, in a kingdom that _adored_ his person.

Terrifying, no?

Nanao had always wondered what it was like for the boys of the tennis team, to be so devastatingly popular that girls abandoned their pride and assumed shrieking out their names as though they were actual celebrities. After all, that wasn't so normal, was it? Nanao was rather sure it wasn't.

Perhaps tennis players emitted some natural kind of pheromone?

Nanao chanced another peek at Atobe, and was surprised to find a surprisingly subdued expression upon his features. "What can Ore-sama say? Ore-sama _is_ quite attractive; it's only normal," he explained, then, voice airy, hand swiveling in the air.

But Nanao persisted. "But how does it _feel_? Certainly, it's not, you know, _boring_, standing up there with a literal _sea_ of girls at the tennis gates."

Atobe paused. "If you must insist on knowing, the novelty wears off after five years," he finally said, directing her a gaze through cobalt blue eyes. Nanao felt her heart skip a beat at the sheer magnitude behind a single look, and wondered, in the back of her mind, how it was possible for a single person to have so much charisma.

"The flattery is nothing of surprise," he added. "Ore-sama is quite divine – but at the same time, those girls hardly know anything about me. They've seen my tennis, my face, my _hair_, but is that really such a reason to _worship_ me as they do? They are, after all, not watching me for the tennis."

Nanao stared at him, eyes impossibly wide, lips slightly parted. Well, to be sure, she hadn't thought him an _idiot_, or anything; she knew him to be extremely smart, if his school ranking as number one in their grade had anything to do with it. Still, it was easy to get lost behind his acts of narcissism and hair flips and smirks, to ever see that he thought about things more than it seemed.

Atobe really _did_ reflect on these things, Nanao realized, and found herself marveling at Atobe's character. There really was more than met the eye, wasn't there? And it wasn't even as though there was little that met the eye, to begin with – in fact, Atobe's presence was so grand that one had to remind oneself to _breathe_ when in the company of such a larger-than-life persona.

"Are you sad about that?" flew from her lips before she could stop herself.

A sharp glance from Atobe. "About what?"

Nanao faltered. "Well, I mean – just that, the people who adore you so much don't really have a reason to."

Atobe raised a brow at her.

"Wait-! That came out wrong – I didn't mean it in _that_ way. I just meant, you know, they don't really know you that well, but they kind of- well. I don't know if you hear the conversations around class, but you're a common topic, you know; it sounds as though the entire world knows everything about your life, about who you are, but – that's not very true at all, is it?" Nanao attempted to explain, hands flailing at her sides. "I just meant that- I don't know, it's a little estranging, isn't it? To have so many people cheering your name, but to know that none of them really know you."

Atobe's lips twitched in amusement, though he managed to keep his expression firm. "You certainly have a depressing way with words."

Nanao's expression grew so sorry and regretful that Atobe laughed. Nanao's gaze snapped up at the sound.

"But it's not entirely wrong."

A faint smile.

"But there is _always_ a reason to worship Ore-sama," Atobe finished, flicking a hand through his hair.

Nanao broke out into a smile of her own. "Of course there is."

"Don't you think it's time to drop the 'Ore-sama' in front of your girlfriend, Keigo?" was Oshitari's entry into the room, voice floating over their heads.

Both Nanao and Atobe looked up to find Oshitari walk into the room with an arm full of new romance novels he'd found in the Atobe library, a quiet excited gleam to his glasses. "And perhaps a first-name basis would be wise, too."

Atobe gave a dismissive glance. "Nonsense. Ore-sama is Ore-sama."

Oshitari rolled his eyes. "Right."

"I can hear the sarcasm in your tone, Yuushi. It's rather unbecoming."

"So is calling oneself 'Ore-sama,' but you don't hear me complaining."

"Don't be so belligerent. And you call yourself a gentleman."

"Why, Keigo dear, it's because I am."

"If you're a gentleman, I'm a plebeian."

"Perhaps you are."

"You've irrevocably wounded me. Leave my estate – and leave those damn romance novels behind."

"Oh, quit with the exaggerations. You should have joined the drama club, not the tennis team."

"And parade around with _those_ freaks? Ore-sama would die of sheer repulsion."

"You have such a lovely way with words."

"Don't I?"

"See? So much better when you don't use the 'Ore-sama.' It's _awkward_, Keigo, when you use it in everyday conversation."

"It cannot be helped that plebeian language cannot fully convey the glory of Ore-sama's presence."

"I'm going to refrain from deigning that with a response."

"Stop being so grouchy – what, did your two precious characters not make kissy kissy, yet?"

"No, they didn't. And don't make it sound so _vulgar_. Kissy-kissy. Pah."

"It's silly, is what it is."

"Like you can talk – you're the one with the fake girlfriend."

"…That was _your suggestion._"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, Keigo."

"Ore-sama would kick you off the team for your irritation if it weren't for the fact that Gakuto would have Ore-sama's ass."

"Frightened of a little redhead, now?"

"That boy has an unholy capability to jump and maim others, and you know it."

"Does he, now?"

"Don't feign innocence, _you're_ the one who showed him how."

"Was I?"

"You disgust me."

"I love you too, Keigo-dear."

Nanao watched all of this with half-fascination and half-amusement.

* * *

"Shall we make it a grand announcement?"

Nanao hardly spared him a glance from her textbook, though, eyes devouring the text. For a moment, Atobe wondered if the girl was _possessed_ by some studying ghost; even _he_ didn't study half as hard. "_Nanao._"

Oshitari, for all his nagging, had succeeded in getting the two to use a first-name basis. It wasn't _that_ strange, not really; the past few weeks had been spent with Nanao and Atobe conversing lightly and doing homework together for hours in the Atobe library. By now, they were rather familiar with each other – almost like old friends, but not really, because they'd really only met a bit ago, but-

"Yes?" Nanao answered, and tore away from her book at last.

"What in the world is _wrong_ with you?"

Nanao offered a sheepish smile. "I have a test tomorrow."

An exasperated sigh, with all the disappointment of a general who had lost his army. "Your obsessive need to study is disturbing."

"Well, we can't all be Atobe Keigo's," she murmured with a dry look, and resumed reading the text. "And what announcement?" she asked, though she didn't look up from the book.

Atobe allowed himself to smirk at the unintended compliment. "Of course – only Ore-sama possesses the natural talent that he has." And then: "It's time to make it known that we are dating. Ore-sama thinks it should be done in a grand fashion, befitting of his status."

"Why do we have to make it public? It's not like your dad goes to Hyotei."

"No, but father's friends have children that go to Hyotei, and these incorrigible teenagers insist upon gossiping with their parents."

"Oh, right."

The members of the upper crust, after all – particularly the women – found much time for idle chatter and gossip.

"Um. I don't know. Is it normal to _announce_ that people are dating?" Nanao flipped a page.

"Of _course_ it is."

"I think that's just you, Atobe-kun."

"Keigo."

"Ah, right. _Keigo-_kun."

"For a studious girl, you're rather forgetful."

"That's why I have to study so hard."

"In any case, it's _Ore-sama_. I'm _Atobe Keigo._ It's simply not right _not_ to make it an announcement – everyone should know."

"Why don't you just pass out fliers, then? Or better yet, announce it in the PA system for the morning announcements."

"I can hear the sarcasm in your voice – you've been listening to Oshitari's dry humor for too long. It's terribly unbecoming."

A laugh. "Right. Sorry."

"You don't sound sorry at all."

"Sorry about that."

A twitch of a brow. "Since you seem to lack such interest, Ore-sama shall simply take it into his own hands."

Nanao was far too absorbed in her book to really understand what was being said. "Whatever you want, Keigo-kun."

She really should have paid more attention.

* * *

"Nana-chan, Nana-chan!"

Nanao looked up from her cell-phone, momentarily distracted from checking the message that had just arrived. In fact, she didn't have a chance to read it at all, for her friend pulled her to her feet, and Nanao's phone clattered onto her desk. "What? What's going on?"

Minami Rina continued to pull Nanao towards the door of their classroom, where she'd been spending that day's lunch. "I heard Atobe-kun had an announcement to make during lunch today in the tennis courts! Everyone's gathering there now."

For a moment, Nanao paused. Rina made it sound as if it were _normal_ that Atobe declared he had an announcement, and the students of the school gathered faster than it took them to gather for their _principal's_ announcements. "What announcement?"

Rina shrugged. "I don't know, but rumors have it that it's something big!"

Nanao sighed laboriously. "Is it going to take a long time?" She received a firm swat to her arm, and squealed in pain.

"Who cares? It's Atobe-kun!"

Oh, if only she knew Keigo's real personality, Nanao thought drily.

For some reason, her mind evaded the one thing that she probably should have been able to guess on her own – the content of Atobe's announcement.

* * *

When they reached the tennis courts, Nanao saw Atobe perched, as usual, at the very top of the strangely high bleachers. The rest of the tennis regulars lounged coolly about him, like the members of his court, and Kabaji held a sun-umbrella over Atobe's head.

And everywhere, _everywhere_, Hyotei students stood milling about, quiet as they awaited Atobe's words.

"Ore-sama would like to make an announcement," he said at last, into the small microphone which remained hooked about his ear and to his lips.

The sound boomed through the courts in pre-set up speakers.

Nanao wasn't sure whether she should be impressed or frightened at the magnitude of how Atobe carried things out.

"Ore-sama has received many gifts daily from his most wonderful fans," he acknowledged, and the girls in the crowd erupted into appreciative cheers. Atobe silenced them with but a look. "However, he must stop accepting these gifts-"

An aching anticipation filled the crowd.

"-for he has decided to date one girl."

Silence.

And then-

-massive, _terrible_ shrieks, from shouted questions, to simply garbling wail, and Nanao's eyes enlarged as she realized with a pause in heartbeat exactly _who_ he was referring to. From beside her, a girl _fainted_, collapsing onto the floor.

Rina turned to whisper furiously to her, eyes just as wide as Nanao's – though for an entirely different reason. "Oh my _god_ – Atobe got a girlfriend? Oh, my, _god!_" Rina, too, squealed. "Who the hell is it? How could we not have known? Oh my god, oh my god, this is _huge_," she gushed.

Nanao couldn't muster up a reply.

"It would be unfair of Ore-sama to make an announcement, and not tell you who it is."

Nanao's heart dropped into the pits of her stomach.

No – he couldn't.

_He wouldn't._

"Suzuki Nanao, year III, class 3-A – where is that girl? Ah, there."

And at that point, Nanao's heart came to a complete stop as Atobe pointed a sharp finger at her in the crowd. How in the hell, she wondered in the very back of her mind, rather numb as of now, had he managed to locate her in such a crowd?

Over five hundred pairs of eyes came to rest on her.

Nanao wished she had the same fainting capabilities as that other girl.

And then: "Um. Hi," she managed to whisper.

At _that_, the girls erupted into shrieks and wails again, and Nanao's wide fearful eyes shot up to Atobe-

-who smiled divinely upon her.

From beside him, Oshitari snorted in amusement into his book once, before flippantly turning to the next page.

* * *

**A/N:**So, how was it? Good, bad, ugly? Please leave me a review and tell me what you think, because I do think reader feedback is super important. And I really appreciate it. So. Hit dat review button- /shot. HAHAHAHA.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** EEEP. My finals are finally over, so I had time to post this! Hehe. Alrighty – thanks so much, again, to everyone who reviewed, and please review again!

**REVIEW REPLIES:**

Lahdolphin – GIRL YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU RIGHT. My heart literally gave this little squeal of happiness and delight when I saw that you liked my Atobe characterization. Ugh. God. I just love you.

Guest – eep, I'm glad you like Nanao; I work hard to make sure she comes across that way, ehe. And god, you gotta love the Atobe/Oshitari, HAHA.

Guest – FFS you should try writing your own! Haha. Thanks for reviewing!

Gise Destler – Ahhhh! Thank you so much; I do love Atobe, and it really makes me happy when people like my characterizations of him. Hehe.

Leogirl321 – hahaha hi! And ee, thanks, and thanks for reviewing! Hehe.

Sh4dee – Yup yup – you might find that the school's reaction that I wrote isn't the stereotypical one you see in dramas and all, but I hope it comes off as realistic anyways. Hehe. Thanks so much for reviewing! (AND GURL I totally recognize you from the amazing review you gave Rising Ambitions…hehehe. I SENT YOU A PM BTDUBS.)

SunnyDorangeJuice – oh my god that idea is actually hilarious – I just might use it! LOL. Your reviews are always cute and make me happy – eep! Hehe, thanks for reviewing.

Magicalnana – gurll, I already have all that planned. Hehe! Thanks for reviewing!

Xxdreamergirl95xx – Eeeep! Thank you, thank you!

Asian Lover – LOL omg I seriously just want to do a crack chapter where they're gay. HAHAHA.

Guest – D'aww, thanks. I'm flattered ;A;

Bloody Rose021 – ROFL. She really is bland, isn't she? Rather the stark contrast to Atobe's 'bigger than life' personality, bwahaha! Thanks so much for reviewing! EEp.

Accelerator – HAHA! It amuses me to write the Atobe/Oshitari scenes too. XD

Lone Panda – EEE. It makes me happy that you try to review. ; n ; I rabbu you readers. OHOHO. And ugh, thank you so much – I did try hard to make Nanao likeable. Hehe.

Fyerigurl – gurl please. I love you more. You know that.

Dalia Inscription – I hope that even if Nanao doesn't have the strongest personalities, I can portray it pretty well in the chapters to come. ; n ; THANKS FOR REVIEWING.

A Midsummer – not gonna lie, literally read your review like a billion times. ROFL. I really like that you took the time to actually analyze it and address my worries ; _ ; I honestly do appreciate the effort, and I'm taking your suggestions! Anyways. DOOD LADY. I wanted to PM you but you don't have an account. GAHD. You should register so I can PM you – LOL.

Symbalin – LOL yeahh I like cliffhangers; but I didn't leave one here! HEHE.

Divine Psyche – LOL I KNOW RIGHT. I'd die to be in her position. /sigh. THANKS FOR REVIEWING.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

At Hyotei, there were many 'tiers' of popularity – those like Oshitari and Atobe belonged at the very top, wherein they were no longer even _classified_ in the same realms as everyone else. Nanao wasn't anywhere near there, but she wasn't unpopular, either; she always liked to believe that she was above-average, never firmly ensconced in any one clique, but comfortable flitting from group to group. She was a sociable, all around friendly girl, the well-known Vice President of the student council. She was likeable. She was everybody's girl.

She was well-known, without really being in the popular category, but enough so that she could share a smile and a laugh with most people in school.

All that was for naught since she'd become the girlfriend of _Atobe Keigo._ Suddenly, she was relegated to a class entirely of her own, so-labeled as the tier of being _Atobe Keigo's girlfriend_, a tier in which no person had ever belonged to before.

It meant being _famous_, and it meant being speculated over as though she were a new specimen recently arrived at a lab. It meant suspicion, curiosity, mild rage and intense jealousy, all directed at her. But no mistake was to be made-

Hyotei Gakuen's students were of the securely upper class – elegant, privileged young ladies brought up with _class._ Fans though they were, they were no common bullies; the screaming-and-fainting shock episode of just a day prior was as far as it went. Of course, girls still moped through the hallways, sobbing uncontrollably, breaking out in tears mid-class, but that was something Atobe had already expected (and, as Oshitari and Nanao suspected, relished in). The girls were _grieving_, though not angry-

-and not to mention, Suzuki Nanao had been most of their friend since the seventh grade, and everyone was well aware of the fact by now: the girl hardly had a conniving bone in their body.

It didn't mean the girls could _understand_ why on earth somebody like Atobe Keigo would date someone like Nanao, nor that they were _happy_ with it (evidently by the tear-tracks constantly dirtying the hallway floors, much to the grumpy dismay of the janitors), but it wasn't ladylike to be sore losers. No, they simply accepted it as they would the passing of a dearly beloved king; that, though, didn't stop the speculations.

After all, what would Hyotei be without its all-famous rumor mill?

* * *

"_Did you hear? It was an arranged marriage since birth!"_

That one had Oshitari infinitely amused at the irony, and Atobe sniffing and looking at his nails.

"_I heard it's not just Suzuki-san – Atobe-sama wants to start dating around, and he's just starting with Suzuki!"_

Atobe looked affronted when that one came to light.

"_Maybe Suzuki-san blackmailed him?"_

Nanao had blanched.

"_Have you met the girl? She couldn't blackmail a five year old child even if she tried."_

Now, that one Nanao was rather insulted by – she could blackmail if she tried, she liked to think.

"_Well I heard it's a publicity stunt."_

Atobe rolled his eyes at that one – right, because he _needed_ stunts to get himself in the public eye. Preposterous.

"_Maybe they just actually like each other – maybe Atobe-sama fell in love."_

At that point, all three of them choked on their tea.

Right.

* * *

Nanao had only had one boyfriend before; it wasn't all that interesting, she remembered thinking, having a boyfriend. Back then, it had been all the rage to couple up, because they'd just entered high school and everyone had wanted to feel 'grown up.' Nanao, too, had gotten caught up in the whole trend, and had said yes with a timid smile when a pretty boy with a charming grin had asked her out because he thought she was 'cute.' Having a boyfriend had meant someone who waited for her after class, someone to always text, receiving cute little messages throughout the day, waiting for her boyfriend until his soccer practice ended-

At least, that's what it _used_ to mean.

Nanao very, very quickly learned that dating _Atobe Keigo_ deserved a verb of its own. Within just a week, she'd been able to draw up a small list in her mind.

_**One**_**. **Dating Atobe Keigo meant waking up to a honking limousine just outside her house's doors.

"Miss? _Miss_ – please do wake up; there's someone at the door."

"Mmph."

"_Nanao-san_!"

"Wah!"

Nanao awoke with a startled cry, darting upwards from her position sprawled across her bed. When she glanced to the side, she found the family maid standing beside her bed, an anxious expression on her features. Another glance to the clock: 6 A.M.

Nanao turned bewildered eyes to the maid. "It's only 6-"

"There's someone for you at the door!"

And so, Nanao, completely at a loss of exactly who the hell would be asking for her at six in the morning, and half-asleep, slipped out of bed. She padded down the stairs and upon reaching the front entrance, sleepily, drowsily pulled open the door-

-only to have her jaw drop at the sight of Oshitari Yuushi and Atobe Keigo standing at her door.

Oshitari leaned casually against the wall outside her door, one leg crossed over the other, nose buried in his latest romance novel. Atobe stood just beside him, tall and pristine and as glorious as ever. He had one slender finger hooked onto his tie, as though he'd been in the process of loosening it; but now, as he stared at Nanao, he paused in his actions.

He quirked a pointed brow at her as his eyes took in the disheveled hair and frilly pink pajamas.

Nanao, after several long blinks, finally realized exactly _why_ he was giving her such a pointed, half-amused, half-exasperated look, and gave a quiet 'eep!' "Wh- Atobe-kun, Oshitari-kun – what are you guys doing here?" she asked at last, eyes still bulging.

"It's only what a gentleman does to pick up a lady to escort her to school," Atobe drawled, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He pursed his lips, then raised his elbow to prop it against the open doorway and leaned in slightly. Nanao leaned back.

"Why are you not ready yet?"

Nanao spluttered.

"Because it's six!"

"Precisely. You're already late."

"School starts at eight!"

"Practice starts at 6:25."

"What practice?"

This time, Oshitari raised his eyes from his book to give Nanao a pointed stare. In the back of her mind, Nanao could only marvel at the sheer power behind these two's _pointed stares._ It was enough, really, to make her feel ashamed for even existing at all-

"Oh. Tennis?"

"No, cricket." Nanao heard the distinct sting of sarcasm in Atobe's voice, and sighed.

"…I'll go get ready," she said, tone resigned, eyes flattening.

"You have six minutes."

* * *

_**Two. **_Dating an Atobe meant gaining the status of a pseudo First Lady.

Nanao walked rapidly – or as rapidly as she could – down the hall, arms full of a stack of heavy papers. She staggered a few times in her gait, but managed to remain relatively balanced, and continued onwards. Really; this was supposed to be the council _president's_ duties, not hers. The president was so terribly lazy this year, pushing all his work onto-

"Ah! Suzuki-san, let me!"

And before Nanao could even turn to face her greeter, she felt the papers being lifted out of her arms. She blinked at the unfamiliar face that beamed back at her. "I, um- hello?"

"Who let Suzuki-san hold such heavy things? Here, let me help you," the second-year boy eagerly continued, walking in the direction Nanao had been heading in.

Nanao took a moment to blink, before shuffling to catch up with the boy. "I, ah – do I know you?" she asked tentatively.

"Oh! I'm Miyaki Ren! It's an honor to meet you, Suzuki-san!"

_An honor_? Why?

"The precious girlfriend of Atobe-sama shouldn't be wasting her energy on such menial tasks!"

…Was he serious?

"It's fine, I can carry them myself," Nanao managed to say, reaching over for the papers; but she was quickly left behind by a protesting Ren, who then proceeded to carry the papers to the office and process the paperwork that she'd been in charge of.

And throughout the day, Nanao was constantly taken care of – in Literature, the teacher had called each individual student up to the front to receive their reports that they'd submitted the week before. Nanao hadn't even been allowed to get up from her seat, what with the mad rush of _ten students_ scrambling to retrieve the paper for her. During break, Nanao had been standing in line for the vending machine, when the three students in front of her eagerly asked what she was intending to buy – and then bought her an _armful_ of said drink. In Arithmetic, Nanao had left her textbook at home; but she didn't have to worry, for four nearby students eagerly shoved their books towards her desk.

In short, it was rapidly becoming a _disaster._

* * *

_**Three.**_ Apparently, even the teachers kept up with the love life of Atobe Keigo, because Greek's Takamura-sensei suddenly found her lack of proficiency in his class _endearing._

"Ah, Suzuki-san! It seems you're a little behind – would you like to take the period off as a private study session? I'm sure Atobe-kun would be _happy_ to help you out! There, there – here's a pass; you two go on to the library and study, alright?"

* * *

_**Four.**_ Being the girlfriend of the tennis team's captain meant sitting during their after school practices, and being forced to interact with the quirky string of infamous regulars.

"_You're_ Keigo's girlfriend? _No fucking way_."

"Gakuto, language."

"But Yuushi-! She makes Greek sound like _Chinese_-"

"They say love makes a person blind. I guess in Keigo's case, it's deaf."

"Sh-Shishido-senpai! That's mean!"

"I'm only being honest, Chou."

"Hrmm- ah? Wha's goin' on?"

"Go back to sleep, Jiroh."

"Gekokujo."

"Hiyoshi, how the _fuck_ does that word even apply right now? What, you want to overcome Suzuki and take her spot as Atobe's girl?"

"…Gekokujo."

"Seriously, somebody teach this kid a new catch phrase. How about 'mada mada dane'?"

"Pfft."

"Kabaji, raise the umbrella a little higher. Ore-sama wants a little sun."

"Usu."

Nanao squirmed under the simultaneous glance of all eight boys.

* * *

_**Five.**_ A relationship with someone like Atobe Keigo was as closely observed as perhaps that of a celebrity.

"Nana, Nana-chan!"

When Nanao looked up from her notes, she found six pairs of wide, huge, glittering eyes staring at her. The pencil slipped from her hand. "…Yes?"

Six lips broke out into identical grins and giggles.

"C'mon Nana, it's already been a week! _Spill._"

Blankness. "Spill what?"

One of the girls rolled her eyes. "You're dating _Atobe Keigo_, Nanao – do you even understand the situation right now? You're literally dating the _emperor._"

Nanao could envision the smug grin that would've taken over Atobe's lips if he'd heard. She found herself struggling to hold back laughter at the image, before-

"Nana! You can't _not_ tell us!"

Tentatively, Nanao lowered her notebook. "Tell you _what_?"

"You know…how you met, when you guys went on your first date, _where_ you went- _everything!"_

"…Oh."

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach.

Was she allowed to make up whatever she wanted? Or was she supposed to follow some imaginary script- For a moment, Nanao pondered simply saying 'we went to the park' for the first date question, but she could already hear Atobe's dramatic sigh and mourning over the 'plebeian nature of such a horror.'

She grimaced.

"Um. I- I don't remember?"

Disbelief mirrored itself on all the girls' faces, and Nanao cringed again. "I mean- Oh! Would you look at that!" Nanao pretended to fish her phone out of her pocket as though she'd received a message. "I have to go – I'll talk to you guys later!"

Nanao hurriedly gathered her things and bolted out the door, grimacing when she heard outraged cries of 'NANAO!'

* * *

Nanao tugged the embroidered pillow closer to her chest and allowed herself to sink into the plush cushions of the luxurious couch. Ah, ah – Atobe really _did_ have the finest upholstery she'd ever had the pleasure of sitting on; he'd made it a point to declare it as such when she'd first sat down. Across the table, Oshitari sat on the loveseat, and Atobe was sprawled elegantly, carelessly, in the single chair beside them both.

He held a glass of wine in his hand, bright, dark red, gleaming in the crystal holder. Nanao had briefly thought to remind him that he was a _minor_, but one glance at Atobe, and she'd laughed at herself. He was _Atobe bleeding Keigo_; since when had laws ever been of consequence to him?

To be honest, though, Nanao secretly thought he liked the way he looked holding the wine, more than the taste of the beverage itself. Nanao personally abhorred the drink, and found it _disgusting._ That was just her, though.

Oshitari's tea had cooled, for he'd left it untouched in favor of, again, his book.

"A story, hm?" Atobe's voice cut fluidly through her thoughts, and Nanao raised her eyes to him.

She nodded.

At _that_, Oshitari's book closed itself with a sharp, loud thump, causing Nanao to jerk slightly in her seat. Atobe continued to stare through bored eyes at Oshitari, rolling his eyes faintly when he saw that familiar _creepy_ glint in his friend's gaze.

Oshitari pushed his glasses up his nose with his ring finger, and they glinted ominously.

"It's a good thing you've an expert here," Oshitari chuckled in a low tone. Nanao felt a creeping suspicion-

"As the avid reader of over _nine hundred and sixty three_ romance novels to date – in English, French and Japanese – I'm the most knowledgeable of proper romance of the three of us," Oshitari declared, with a hint of pride in his voice, and Nanao almost spluttered with laughter. She managed to contain it with a cough, though, but Atobe slid her a knowing, amused smirk.

She flushed.

"This is how your story went- Suzuki-san is heartbroken over her last breakup-"

"…That was in first year, Oshitari-kun."

Oshitari sent her a sharp glance and Nanao immediately quelled. It seemed that romance novels _really_ got him going.

"-and as she grapples with the harsh reality of loneliness and despair, Keigo comes across her crying form in a classroom one day."

Atobe sighed deeply, as though this were nothing new at all.

"Slowly, they bridge a friendship. Keigo discovers that Suzuki-san is actually suffering from brain cancer, and only has _one year_ to live. And Keigo, the friend, asks her what her greatest wish is-"

"-and Suzuki-san desperately, _dearly_ wants to fall in love."

"So he takes her hand, kisses the back of his chastely-" Oshitari gave a dramatic pause, eyes glinting manically. "And from there, the two fall rapidly into a delirious sort of love that threatens to consume their very souls, to the point where Keigo would gladly die himself if it means joining his love in the afterlife."

"The day of Suzuki-san's passing, she dies in his arms at the private beach owned by the Atobe's in Cancun-"

"Oh, that beach is quite nice," Atobe comments.

"I _die_?" Nanao asks instead.

"-and Keigo pulls out a small, white capsule from his own pocket. He kisses his love one last time on her pale forehead, before swallowing the pill; and within moments, he, too, has passed, hand held tightly in hers-"

"And why am _I_ dying in such an unsightly manner? If anything, I should be dying on a grand stage, before _millions_ of people chanting my name-"

"Why do I have cancer? And why did I die? And Keigo-kun, why would you ever be on a stage in front of millions of people and die-"

"Naturally, people will hold a great event in honor of my passing; hundreds of thousands of candles lit at night, released with lanterns into the sky-"

"Keigo-kun, are you _planning_ your death right now? And Oshitari-kun, why did I die?!"

"Because, Suzuki-san, it's for the _romance_."

"Yuushi, your romance is a pile of tacky rubbish. Ore-sama refuses to die on a dirty beach and less than at least six thousand people watching."

"I still don't understand why we die at all-"

Oshitari gave a long-suffering sigh. "You two are such uncultured simpletons. _Read a book_ every once in a while, will you?"

"I read books, Yuushi. You read unholy bindings of silly fluff."

"I protest that sentiment."

"Why don't you die for it? Apparently that's what you do for things you love."

"I don't-"

"Why don't we just make up a _normal_ story? Like, um. I don't know – Keigo-kun and I ran into each other studying in the library-"

"The Atobe private collection is far better than Hyotei's – why on earth would I ever spend my time in _that_ dingy place?"

Nanao had spent enough time with Atobe to learn that such statements could go safely ignored.

"-and we just started spending more time together, and started liking each other, and now we're dating-?"

Oshitari and Atobe gave her a simultaneous, dry look, and Nanao found herself flushing red. "What? I think it's nice-"

"Clearly, _neither_ of you understand what _real_ romance is. Allow Ore-sama to educate you heathens."

Nanao saw Oshitari roll his eyes behind his glasses out of the corner of her eyes, and concealed a quiet smile behind her hand.

"Obviously, Nanao fell for Ore-sama's obvious, overwhelming glory, and proceeded to follow me around for three months-"

"…What?"

"And finally, Ore-sama felt pity for the poor girl, and graced her with an afternoon tea, upon which she impressed him with her devotion and loyalty."

Oshitari snorted.

"The following week, she asked me out so sincerely, with such desperation in her voice, that Ore-sama acquiesced."

With a flourish and a smug smile, Atobe turned to face Nanao and Oshitari. Nanao gave him a slack-jawed, raised-brows look, and Oshitari simply sighed, as though he hadn't expected much else from the boy in front of him.

"…So how about the library thing-"

"Don't be so _unromantic;_ it simply must be the illness-"

"Ore-sama refuses to _die on a beach._"

"I just don't want to die!"

Needless to say, it was another few hours before they left the Atobe estate.

* * *

"So?"

Nanao faced the expectant, six smiling faces again, and felt a tug of déjà vu.

She sighed.

"I was just overcome with his _fabulous glory_, and couldn't help but to approach him. I was further charmed by his overwhelming charisma. And somehow, things ended up like this."

_**Six.** _There just was no 'winning,' when it came to dating Atobe Keigo.

* * *

**A/N:** So. Review? 8'D


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Yeah yeah, really slow update compared to last time. I AM SORRY, school started getting a little busy for a while. Sighhh. But yes, yes, I'll update faster from now on – especially with the support of reviews! Hehe.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

**Review Replies:**

Rilakumadesu: FFFS thank you, thank you – and ohmg, I'd be so flattered if you drew out what you think Nanao looked like, haha!

AlwaysRunning9: Ah, ah, thank you so much! I do try to put my own spin on clichés, and stuff. Hehe. Thanks for reviewing!

Guest: LOL yeah, silly Oshitari. Bahaha! And, you know, what would Atobe be without his theatrics? XD Thanks for reviewing!

Lucy Nikolaievich Derzhavin Hehe yes, I love the Atobe-Oshitari interactions, too. ;D Thanks for reading and reviewing!

The human principle: ;D LOL OH NANAO. There's really no winning against Atobe.

Astalavisbon: Haha, yeah, I think bully drama would be a bit much at this point. =A= And I know, I know, the chemistry is not yet there – BUT I PLANNED IT TO BE SO. SO KEEP YOUR EYES PRIED, HEHEHE. I've got something in store for you all. 8D

Charmainelst: Ahhhh thank you! I love readers who read multiple fics of mine, hehe. Thanks so much for reviewing!

Lone Panda: HAHAHA Atobe is the king – and Hyotei is the winner. XD And omg, I'd just die if I dated him. BAHAHAHA. And I'll be sure to check out those pics! Thanks for reviewing~

PurePrincess: Ah, thanks!

Whimsical Omelettes: LOL Atobe would not be Atobe without his dramatic flair. XD

Xxdreamergirl95xX: BAHA thanks, Atobe _is_ a riot, isn't he? Hehe. Thanks for reading and reviewing!

KL93: LOL, with Atobe, anything is possible yo. HAHA.

Aayuready: Omg, thanks, I'm so flattered. ;A; But yeah, I try hard on their interactions, because I feel like they all have such cute chemistry. Hehe. Thanks for reviewing!

A Midsummer: OMG YOU DO NOT KNOW HOW FLATTERED I AM THAT SOMEONE'S MAKING A PDF OF MY FIC. OTL SDLkFJDSLK A fanfiction writer's joys. HAHAHA. Tell her I said thank you! And eee, tell me when you get your account back girl. =,= I wanted to chat with youuu – PM me when you can log in!

Devil's Blade: Aww, I'm glad I could! Hehe thank you.

Shubhs: HAHA, thank you, thank you.

* * *

Atobe Keigo, Nanao thinks, is really _something else._

She sat, huddled with her knees close up to her chest, on the bleachers, playing watch-guard over the haphazard items of the regular players, which were strewn around her on the level below and above her own seating. A Greek textbook was open on her lap (Keigo said that he could not be seen in public with such a terrible grasp on the language, and made her study it more than usual). Nanao blinked against the harsh sunlight, focusing in on the figure of one Atobe Keigo, who stood on one side of the courts-

Nanao wasn't a very good tennis player, but she'd learned enough as a child to know how to watch a game. And _this_, she was quite sure, wasn't the typical tennis game. After all – the whole "I see it – your _weakness_" speech was a bit unnerving, not to mention the fact that his opponent had yet to return a _single hit_ from Keigo's side of the courts. She wasn't sure what was going on, really, but she could figure that Keigo's tennis was certainly _not normal_.

As he finished up the game and stood back, Nanao blinked – his racket was positively _gleaming_ in the sunlight, she could swear. And standing there, beads of sweat illuminating his porcelain skin against the sun, posture regal and expression incorrigibly superior, he looked like a _king._

Nanao's lashes fluttered as she blinked a few times-

-and Atobe quirked his chin up, then, and his cobalt eyes caught Nanao's own. Her eyes widened. His lips curved into a smirk.

It was only when he glanced away to flit his gaze over his recovering opponent, that Nanao felt herself able to breathe again.

"Waiting for Keigo again?"

Nanao shifted her gaze upwards from her book to the figure who stood looming over her, eyes peering through a strand of hair that had fallen over her vision. She moved to tuck it softly behind her ear, and allowed a smile to cross her lips when she saw who it was. "Ah, Oshitari-kun – hi," she murmured. "And yeah – he and I are going to try to do some of our project today, so I'm waiting for his practice to end."

Oshitari's blue eyes slid to glance at Atobe, who stood with his arms crossed, watching a few members rally off against one another, and then came back to rest at Nanao. When she caught his gaze, she felt her heart skip a little beat, before settling back in her chest.

He smiled a polite smile, and reached down to retrieve his water bottle. Nanao watched as he tilted his head back and allowed the liquid to pour into his throat, the bottle hovering a few inches above his lips. When he lowered it, he offered her another smile, before placing the bottle back into his bag.

"Suzuki-san?"

Nanao looked up from where her gaze had been attempting to read the text once more. "Yes?"

"Keigo's really quite a great catch, you know," he murmured smoothly, eyes coolly regarding her from behind glinting glasses; an amused curve sat upon his lips, and Nanao found her eyes widening despite herself.

"I-"

"He can come off as a bit forward-" Nanao almost snorted. Almost. _Forward_ was perhaps the largest understatement she'd heard that year. "-but you'll come to find him charming soon enough; they always do, after all."

The fluttering in her stomach was anything but comfortable.

* * *

_Flip. Flip. Flip. _From across her, Atobe flipped quickly, easily through the pages of the textbook, eyes scanning the text quickly before moving on once what he sought wasn't found. He had such a natural grasp on the language that he hardly needed to glance at the characters to decipher what they meant, and Nanao's lips were parted in slight-envy, slight awe, eyes unable to tear themselves away from his reading. Her own textbook was open before her, on some page – not that it mattered, considering she could hardly read it.

Atobe paused, then, and tilted his gaze to raise a brow at her. "Ore-sama knows he's divinely handsome – but such blatant staring is a bit obvious, no?" he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice, before he assumed picking through the pages once more.

Nanao's cheeks flushed, and she quickly ducked her head to focus on her own book. A few minutes, though, and she accepted the hopelessness of the situation; this project would be the only way to save her grade, after all, if this continued. She let out a long sigh and leaned to rest her chin on the table. Atobe paused again, and this time, moved his chin entirely to stare directly at her.

Nanao blinked. "Yes?"

"It's _really_ not that hard – Ore-sama cannot fathom how you fail miserably so," he replied with a sniff. Nanao's cheeks puffed in a deep pout.

"Well I mean- It's just… It's _hard_ for me," she finished lamely, unable to come up with another excuse. Atobe, with a snort, resumed reading again.

A few more minutes passed in silence, save for the sound of the pages of his book being flipped with efficiency. Nanao peered up carefully at Atobe, eyes tracing the curves and lines of his face – he really _was_ good looking, she admitted to herself. She sighed inwardly; some people really did have it all, she supposed.

And then, she lifted her chin up from the table and moved to prop her elbows on it, instead. "Hey, Atobe-kun-"

"Keigo."

"Ah- Keigo-kun."

"Yes?"

"Why didn't you just get a real girlfriend?"

At last, Atobe paused and looked at her in the eyes. For a moment, Nanao wondered if she'd been too _forward_ – but wasn't he always painfully blunt, too? And then, Atobe let out a quiet sigh, and leaned the side of his head against his palm, one finger underlining his eye; the gaze in his eyes had her heart thumping painfully in her chest.

"For a smart girl, you can be _really_ slow."

Nanao's cry of affront had another smile slipping onto his lips. "Weren't you the one who said that those who adore me do it for no real reason?"

A stark chill pooled in the pits of her stomach as she paused.

"It's troublesome to date girls – doubly so when she has no _real_ affection for me, no matter her delusions. Dating in itself is quite a trifling matter."

"I think you're just cynical," Nanao replied, pressing her lips into a line.

Atobe's lips quirked into a smirk. "Really? Isn't it troubling, to court someone? To cater to their each and every whim, on the off chance that she may return some teenage hormone-inspired 'feelings'? It's a simple analysis of cost-benefits; the energy input into dating isn't worth the return."

"I think you're wrong – because you see, Keigo-kun, when someone really _does_ have feelings, the 'output' can make them feel so happy that they'd be willing to spend however much energy they need to. It's something indescribable-"

"Have you felt it?"

Nanao's heart skipped a beat. "What?"

"Ore-sama is asking, have _you_ felt such feelings before?"

She faltered. "Well- no. But I'm sure that's the way it is."

Atobe laughed. "Why don't you get back to me when it happens, and Ore-sama shall see."

Nanao frowned.

* * *

"_Ore-sama no bigi ni yoi na_."

Nanao's inner feelings wanted to _scream._ Fortunately, she didn't have to – for precisely one hundred and seven other girls did, and the cafeteria was lost in a tumble of scraping chairs and clicking heels as the female students shot from their seats to wave exuberantly, reverently, at Atobe. He helmed the entire procession of tennis regulars, who strode through the crowded cafeteria in their tennis jerseys; the crowd, Nanao noted with half-horror, parted for them as though Atobe were some figure of _Moses._

Even after years of watching it all, it was still unnerving – doubly so, since now, she _knew_ them.

Atobe's tennis jersey fluttered dramatically upon his shoulders, and Nanao idly wondered if he'd had it made it out of material that did so easily – she wouldn't put it past him, really. He always did have a penchant for dramatics. The thought slipped an amused, affectionate smile on her lips-

"Nana! _Nanao_!"

Her eyes snapped up to her friend, who'd been violently shaking her shoulder. "Y-Yeah?"

Her friend leaned in to whisper fiercely in her ear: "I think Atobe-sama is here for you!"

…What? For a moment, Nanao was lost in confusion – before she remembered that oh, right, she was dating him. Or, well – supposedly, she was. She turned to look at Atobe, who she found still-approaching, and her eyes widened when he paused a few paces away.

"You, girl," he murmured, a hand draped across the right side of his face in that way of his. Nanao caught Oshitari poking Atobe harshly at his side, and she saw the way Atobe bit back a flinch. "_Nanao_," he amended, though not without a flat-eyed glance at Oshitari, who simply smiled delightedly back.

"Come."

He swept a hand forward to gesture her forward.

Somewhere in the background, Nanao was sure she heard the telltale sounds of a girl's quiet sigh and a _thump_ as she fainted.

She stared, frozen, lips slightly parted and eyes wide. Really, she should have been more used to this by now, but it was still _hard_, when said person was _Atobe Keigo._ He really deserved a class of his own, in Nanao's opinion.

"Is she retarded?" broke her out of her thoughts. "Why's she just gaping there like a fish?"

"Gakuto-senpai, that's mean!"

"I'd like to ask why the _fuck_ we're standing here in some triangle behind Keigo to begin with – it's bad enough he makes us walk in formation into tournaments because he likes the way his jacket flutters behind him when he's at the front, damn it."

"Oh, I know, right? He's such a little priss."

"_Senpai_-"

"Gekokujo."

"Hiyoshi, you really do need a new catchphrase-"

"Suzuki-san – would you care to join us for lunch?"

Finally, finally, Oshitari's pleasant smile and calm words had Nanao reacting; without realizing, she'd been simply _staring_ at her supposed boyfriend's summoning hand. She fought down the tinge of red that threatened to overtake her cheeks, and scrambled to retrieve her things. "Um- Yeah! I'm going," she breathed, yanking up her bag onto her shoulder, and stumbled over to Atobe.

"Such a slow girl," Atobe murmured, leaning in to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Nanao's eyes widened, and her chest felt squeezed.

"Time to go; as much as Ore-sama enjoys the adoration of the masses, it's not quite the same when they're doing it to watch something that I've to put up an act for," he sighed, and Nanao quickly fell in line as he moved the group forward and out the cafeteria.

Behind them, another pair of girls fainted with a sigh.

* * *

Nanao was not an only child – rather, she was the youngest daughter, with an older brother and an older sister. She supposed that her parents had been hoping for another boy, but she was never too put off by it; they loved her all the same, as their child. She was often the little 'baby' of the family – the little darling girl, to be dressed in pretty things and be given pretty accessories and to be fawned over.

To be a pretty little girl, and nothing else. "Nana doesn't have to worry," her father had said. "Papa will take care of everything – just sit and smile, okay?"

She'd enjoyed it, before. That her family loved her, that she didn't have to do anything but be their 'baby girl.' But slowly, somewhere along the way, she learned that there was a fine line between taken care of, and being patronized.

"Oh, sweetheart – Hyotei? Don't you think that school would be a little too hard for you?"

"Tennis? Honey, leave the sports to your brother; it's much too hard for Papa's little girl."

"Ah, Nana? Smart?" A laugh. "She's just my little sister, you know?"

"Nanao, onee-san bought you a pretty dress- oh? A test? Tomorrow? I'm sure you'll do fine, Nanao, no need to study so hard; it's not like you'll get first place, is it?"

"Study business? Isn't that a little hard, baby?"

"Papa will take care of our little girl, so don't worry about the family business."

Her older brother – the oldest – was twenty two, and finishing up his college education at the all-prestigious Tokyo University. He was to be their father's successor to the throne of the corporation; he was a bright, charming young man, with all the world laid out in front of him.

Her older sister, twenty, was taking a gap year between her next year of college and now, though she was studying corporate law. A _fine_ addition to the family company, her parents had said, when she declared her intentions to pursue the major.

And Nanao- Nanao wasn't quite sure, what she wanted to do. But every time she brought it up with her father, he'd only laughed and wiggled Nanao's nose, as if to say, 'silly little girl.'

This time, though-

"Nanao – I heard you have a new boyfriend?"

The clatter of spoons and forks fell in favor of a stark, deafening silence. Her mother wiped daintily at her lips, as though she hadn't just brought up a bombshell at the family dinner table. Her father was the first to react-

"A _boyfriend_? Who?"

"Atobe Keigo," her mother replied before she could, a certain ring to her words that sounded oddly like smugness.

"Atobe Keigo- you don't mean _that_ Atobe," her brother said, loudly, eyes as wide as platters.

"Hiroki, please – don't be so loud at the table."

"Sorry, mom."

"Isn't he supposed to be voted the most eligible bachelor in _Tokyo Weekly_?" Nanao's sister exclaimed, interest lighting her pretty eyes. "Nanao – well done!"

"Eligible bachelor? Why, he can't be older than seventeen!" her father protested.

"Um- he's eighteen, actually."

"Why didn't you tell us, honey?" Her mother directed a stern gaze – though she still detected the hint of a pleased air in her voice – at Nanao, and she falterd.

"Well I just-"

"Oh, mom, what teenage girl just reports to their parents about every new boyfriend?" Minako waived a hand airily, before giggling. "But wow! Atobe Keigo! Even _I_ heard a lot about him, back when I was at Hyotei – _quite_ the catch."

"And how did you find out, mother?" Her dad sounded a little put off that he'd been second to know.

Her mother wiped her lips again with the napkin. When she placed it down, a smug smile had been spread across her lips. "Oh, you know, I was just chatting with the girls again, when they mentioned that some _charming lady_ finally managed to capture the attention of the young Atobe heir. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be our little Nanao. Oh, all the girls were _so_ jealous."

"Mom, I think you're enjoying yourself a little too much," Minako teased.

"Nonsense."

And then-

"Well done, Nanao; this will be a nice conversation starter for when I meet with Atobe next week to discuss the possibilities of a business project."

At that, Nanao brightened, and smiled.

* * *

"Well done, Suzuki-san! Your work with Atobe-kun must have really paid off!"

Nanao smiled hesitantly at the teacher, who beamed back and forth between herself and Keigo, who sat languidly, elegantly, across his chair from beside her own desk. She flickered a glance at him, only to flush when his lips curved into an amused smirk and his brow quirked at her. _Silly girl_, his gaze seemed to laugh at her.

When Nanao sat down, she traced a finger over the small index card placed carefully at the open page in her book. As her turn to read had approached, Atobe had figured out which passage she'd be assigned, and had written out the greek in pseudo-Japanese, intoning out how each word would sound, instead of actual Greek letters. Of course, she was a bit slow at certain points to decipher out the way he'd sounded things out-

-but it'd still been a huge improvement from her attempting to read on her own.

From across the classroom, she saw Mukahi-kun stare at her curiously, brows raised in surprise. She ducked her head to scribble notes in her binder.

Atobe chuckled from beside her, and she reached out with a foot to kick lightly, almost playfully, at his outstretched one. He gave her an affronted look soon after, and she, too, burst into quiet laughter.

Atobe rolled his eyes.

Nanao flipped the index card to the clean, blank back, and wrote something neatly across it with her pen. She slipped it onto Atobe's desk unnoticed by the others in the room.

Atobe quirked a brow at her, and Nanao, with a small shrug, turned back to pay attention to the next reader in the class.

Atobe flipped over the card.

"Thank you, Ato-" There, his surname was crossed out. "Keigo-kun. I'll buy you some ice cream!"

He snorted.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hello, hello! I finally got around to updating again! Ahh, life has been so terribly busy – I'm so sorry, my readers. And again, and again, thank you so, so much, to all the reveiwers out there – it seriously provides a lot of motivation for me to continue writing, even when I can't find the muse. I'm uploading this chapter really late at night, so I'm going to sleep, now – but tomorrow morning, I shall add replies to all the lovely reviews you guys left me!

Please review again for this chapter!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

One could, in Oshitari's opinion, call him a lover of women – elegant women, beautiful women, charming women, strong women, weak women; women, after all, were _divine_ creatures. Long, slender limbs and supple skin and just adorable personalities – god, he loved women. What pleased him most of all, though, was a girl in love; forget hair products and makeup and clothes, a girl in _love_ was the prettiest thing of all.

The idea of love was something that Oshitari quite enjoyed exploring – it gave him an odd little fascination, a little something to tinker with in his otherwise mundane days. That was one of the reasons he enjoyed his silly little romance novels. They were brilliantly amusing, really, and allowed him to enjoy a hobby while taking on the appearance of a patron of the arts.

Not that Keigo ever appreciated his cultured taste. Pft.

To be honest, he wasn't quite sure what he'd been expecting, when he'd half bulldozed Keigo into a 'fake relationship' with Suzuki. It was entertaining, for sure, but- he could consider it as a lab experiment, he supposed, 'just to see what would happen.'

As pretty as girls were when they were in love, it was only when the love was _real_ – and though Keigo was loved and adored by many, Oshitari had never found a single one of them pretty at all. He'd been Keigo's friend for years; one of the privileged few who were privy to the great Atobe Keigo-sama on a real, human basis. He was Keigo his laughably egotistical, frighteningly adept friend who had an adorable love for his dog and a childish rivalry towards notable tennis players. He was Keigo, the friend who left far too many openings for Oshitari to poke fun at.

He wasn't Keigo, the idol – the idol that he was, to perhaps, most of the world.

Oshitari thought Suzuki was a bit daft, but quite an intelligent, levelheaded girl in her own rights; she was often starstruck by Atobe – but that was normal. She was awed, but she didn't take it to fangirling excess, and she certainly knew where her academic priorities lay. Above all, she was genuinely _honest_ – it could be chalked up to a tasteless level of bluntness, but with her, one could be sure that she wasn't veiling any witty, dual-natured insult beneath her comments.

Oshitari could appreciate a person like that – and he thought it might serve Keigo well to befriend a girl who was like that. Someone who was…ah, what was the phrase? Ah, ah – down-to-earth. That was it.

Of course, Oshitari didn't know if Suzuki would eventually fall for Atobe, too – and, as much as he loathe to feed Keigo's ego, it really was hard _not_ to fall for him as a girl. But, at the very least, he could feel assured in the fact that if she did ever come to like him, it would be because he was _Keigo_, not 'Atobe Keigo-sama.'

And that was enough for Oshitari to continue to encourage this little play. (That, and he thought it was quietly hilarious whenever Keigo pulled one of his gestures that left the silly girl gaping).

* * *

Nanao wasn't in her first relationship with Atobe – that is, if one even considered it a _relationship_. Nonetheless, like many other teens, she'd had at least one boyfriend before, not to mention the few dates she'd gone on with boys who had asked. She'd held hands before – she'd even been kissed before.

She didn't like Atobe, not really; she found him attractive (who didn't?), and thought he was incredibly alluring at times, but it didn't mean she _liked_ him. Nanao loved with her head and heart, and not her eyes – she always dreamed that the day she really _did_ fall for someone, it would be someone whose mere presence made her happy enough to laugh.

Still, though. Despite her lack of romantic inclinations towards the boy, and her former experience, she still felt a little flop in her chest whenever his arm brushed hers, or when he linked their fingers together loosely.

Before, they hadn't really even thought to do such things – holding hands, hugging, standing close together. But, as it turned out just a week ago, it seemed as though the girls around campus were watching them under extreme scrutiny. It couldn't be helped, Nanao supposed. It _was_ Atobe.

Nonetheless, people had found it weird that they seemed so disgustingly platonic with one another – and even then, a distanced, polite sort of friendship, as one might regard someone they had only befriended a month ago. Well, that was the honest nature of their relationship, but people had to believe that they were _dating._

So now they'd fallen into a pattern of holding hands and hugging and sitting close together until their shoulders brushed – it was all methodical and precise, calculated gestures. But Nanao still felt a little self-conscious from time to time, and it still felt a little awkward and uncomfortable at times, but-

She forgot about the awkwardness and discomfort a lot, nowadays, because she'd come to find Atobe's conversation quite fascinating. He was cultured from countless trips abroad, and was always, always well-informed on current events – this, coupled with his sheer eccentric personality lent itself to some of the most engaging talks she'd ever had the pleasure of partaking in.

"If you're so focused on winning, then why did you allow Shishido-kun back on the team, then?"

"Wrong."

Nanao looked up, eyes widened. "…What?"

"You, girl, are wrong." Atobe punctuated the statement by flicking the tip of her nose, and Nanao's expression wrinkled as she scrunched her nose in response; she frowned at him, before letting go of his hand to nurse her wounded flesh.

"Why?"

"_I_ don't focus on winning – _Hyotei_ focuses on merit alone."

Nanao silently appreciated the fact that Atobe seldom used the words 'Ore-sama,' now.

"I gave Ryou a second chance, because he'd earned it. Those who work for a position, and succeed in gaining the skills needed for it, are redeemed in my eyes."

She stared a little bit longer at the burgeoning smirk across his lips.

"Because what's important isn't your _ability_. It's your willingness to work for it – because that shows me that you can be _that much greater._"

Nanao blinked, lashes casting fluttering shadows across her pale cheekbones underneath the bright sun.

* * *

Nanao arrived at the Atobe library that Saturday at two o'clock, as Keigo had demanded, in order to gather research for their project. When she arrived at the manor, she had tried to tell the household staff that she could find her way to the library alone by now, only to have the elderly butler chuckle at her before lead her there anyway. Nanao peered around for a sign of Keigo, but then the butler told her that he was engaged in a meeting with his father.

So, Nanao was left alone in the library, and had sat down with the intention of reading one of the books, perhaps, until Keigo was free.

And _then_ she'd found the note he'd left on the table they usually sat at: _Don't think of slacking because I'm not there, Nanao. Ore-sama expects you to be able to translate the next ten pages of the _Iliad_ by the time Ore-sama is finished talking with father._

Nanao wanted to cry.

But then she realized that he'd berate her for wasting time with tears, and with a sigh, she pulled herself off the sofa to go search for Greek translation books.

* * *

Atobe often liked to call Oshitari 'the shadow that he didn't want.' The two spent almost every day in some form of contact with one another, whether they wanted to or not; and Oshitari, when he found himself with free time, wandered into the Atobe estate upon whim in order to search for more romance novels to whisk away. Besides. It irked Keigo that many of his household staff members adored Oshitari's presence, and Oshitari liked whatever pissed Keigo off.

And he knew that Keigo loved him, no matter the harsh words he often said.

On this bright Saturday, when he'd slipped into the Atobe library, he'd expected peace and quiet. What he found, instead, was Suzuki, with a messy flurry of papers in a wide arc about her at the table, a tower of books at her side. My, my – the sight of Suzuki Nanao in full-study mode was something to behold, he mused in mild amusement; she even had large, thick glasses perched on the edge of her nose.

It seemed, by the amount of notes her hand was taking at the moment, that the studying was going smoothly. That is, if one ignored the expression of stark frustration on her features, and the fact that a quick glance belied that most of her translations were, as expected, _wrong._

The fact that Keigo was not present, coupled with the pitiful Suzuki, gave Oshitari an easy analysis of the current situation at hand: Keigo had been called in for one of his spontaneous meetings with his father, and he'd left without a second thought as to his other obligations – but not before leaving an order for the all-too obedient girl to study.

Oshitari had found that Suzuki had a surprising tendency to grow a backbone at the most unexpected of times, and quelled much too easily at others. But above all, she never failed to follow a command to _study_. It was a little pathetic, and a little funny, to be honest.

He couldn't help the chuckle that slipped from his lips.

At the sound, Nanao's head shot up, eyes wide, hopeful that-

Ah. It wasn't Atobe. With a sigh, her shoulders slumped in half disappointment, though she was happy to see Oshitari-kun, too. She'd just hoped that it would be Keigo, so that they could work on the project, and she could stop studying for Greek translations that weren't even official assignments.

Oshitari raised a brow. "I'm terribly sorry to disappoint."

Nanao flushed at the teasing comment, and raised her hands to shake them frantically. "Oh, no, I'm sorry," she rushed to say. "I was just hoping that I could stop studying translations if it was Keigo," she sighed again.

Oshitari laughed, and moved forward to take a seat across from her. He took a cursory glance at the text she was currently working on, and with an elegant hand, flipped her notebook over to read her attempted translations. Nanao watched with an expression that couldn't be described as anything but one of someone who'd given up completely.

Oshitari almost chortled at the translations on the page.

It should be _illegal_ to be this terrible after two and a half years of study at the subject.

Nanao frowned. "It's not _that_ bad-"

"You're right."

Nanao smiled, pleased.

"It's worse."

Nanao let out a long-suffering sigh. Oshitari decided to take pity, and took up one of the many pens strewn across the table. He clicked it with practiced efficiency.

"Here – why don't I help you," he murmured coolly, leaning in to get a better view of the Greek book.

"Wait- really?"

"Pay attention, Suzuki-san; I do hate tutoring those who ask me to repeat things."

"Oh, right-! Sorry."

* * *

When Atobe found the two precisely three hours later, Nanao was in mid-laughter, eyes bright with amusement; Oshitari, from across her, offered yet another witty quip from one of the many books he'd read. The laughter paused when Nanao noticed Keigo, whereupon she gave a cheerful wave, and lifted her notebook to reveal the lines of translation.

Atobe walked over, and patted Nanao on the head once, twice, as one might a dog. And then, he turned to Oshitari. "You seriously need to stop entering my house like it's yours."

Oshitari offered a smile. "But, my dear Keigo – what's yours is mine, and what's mine is mine, isn't it?"

Atobe paused, before- "Do shut up, Yuushi."

* * *

In the days to follow, Nanao found herself stood up by Atobe a total of _four times_. The first time, it hadn't been so bad; he'd called a few hours before the arranged time, with the mild apology that his father wished to speak to him about one thing or another. Nanao didn't mind, really.

The second time, they'd been about to meet for coffee at a well-frequented café by Hyotei students. Nanao had gotten there, actually, a few minutes early, and had sat herself down at a pretty table by the window. Just as she placed her order for a cup of tea, she received a text: _Sorry; father handed me a few business documents to go over._

Nanao, with pursed lips and a wry expression, had pocketed her phone, and made to get up – only to find Oshitari standing beside her, an ever-present, small smile on his lips. "Do you mind if I sit, Suzuki-san?"

Nanao blinked. "Ah- sure; I was just about to leave."

Oshitari smiled. "Ah, but your tea is here already," he murmured – and indeed, the waitress arrived with a tray. Nanao bit her lower lip. "Why not join me for tea?"

Nanao managed a hesitant smile. "Okay."

The third time, it was actually after school; Keigo normally dropped her off at home, not without making a big show of opening the door for her to step inside (girls really swooned at that). That particular day, though, she'd walked to the gates, only to find Atobe's glaring limousine a missing presence. Confused, she glanced around-

-and just then, a smaller limousine that Atobe's pulled up slowly in front of her. The back window rolled down, and Oshitari's smile beamed from within. "Do get in, Suzuki-san," Oshitari murmured, as though she were _supposed_ to get into his ride.

"Ah- I thought Keigo was-"

"Keigo left school early today, because his father wanted him to attend a shareholder's meeting for some experience; he asked me to give you a ride home."

Nanao faltered for a moment. "…Oh. I could just phone home to send a ride, then-"

Oshitari stepped out of the car. "Don't be silly, Suzuki-san; it's no problem at all. I'm used to cleaning up after Keigo, after all."

The fourth time she received Atobe's flurried message of 'Sorry – father's asked me to take care of a small problem,' Nanao simply sighed and pressed in another contact on her phone. Twenty minutes later, Oshitari arrived, a book in hand and an amused smile on his lips.

"My my, Suzuki-san – it does hurt to be Keigo's replacement," he murmured, in that flat voice of his. Nanao laughed, and shifted over so that he could join her on the park bench.

Around them, the shrieking laughter of children joined in with the barking of small puppies and dogs. For a moment, Nanao took the time to breathe in the scent of flowers and grass, and basked in the warm sunlight. A bright, orange butterfly flitted by.

"Sorry to be of trouble like this all the time; I just wanted to ask you a question today, though."

Oshitari, who had already opened his book to the place he'd saved, murmured a "It's alright," as his eyes scanned the text.

"I just- It's a little weird, but- I was just wondering what Keigo-kun's relationship with…his father, was."

Oshitari closed his book softly. He leaned his back against the bench and tilted his head back, until Nanao could easily trace the curve of his prominent adam's apple, the slope of his neck; and for a few moments, they sat in still silence, with nothing but the wind filling in the emptiness between them. Nanao licked her lower lip tentatively. Finally, she turned slightly to face Oshitrai. "Uhm- I mean, if it's something sensitive, then I think I've overstepped my bounds-"

Oshitari tilted his eyes, too, so that he could glance at her. Nanao stopped at the amused smirk on his lips. "Your bounds? You're his girlfriend, aren't you?"

At that, Nanao flushed a deep red. "That's not what I meant-"

Oshitari chuckled. "Kidding."

Nanao quelled into silence once more.

"It's not sensitive – it's just been so long since I've had to put my thoughts into words on the particular subject. I was thinking."

"…Oh."

"I think- well, it's hard to ever put the dynamics of a relationship into words, don't you think?" Oshitari took another moment to organize his words. "But in the simplest sense, I suppose…Keigo simply has an overwhelming desire to impress his father – there's only one man in the world who could have Keigo bending over backwards to _impress_, you know."

Nanao hummed in response – and in that moment, she felt as if she understood the sentiment more than anything else she'd ever known about Keigo. After all, she- Well. The two stood in starkly different circumstances, actually; perhaps she didn't know, she amended.

Still. She felt an odd familiarity to Oshitari's words.

"And Keigo-"

_And Keigo is far too obsessed with his father's desires to realize that he shouldn't give have the shite he does to his father's impractical whims, but he's always been stupid when it came to his father._

But Oshitari didn't think it was quite his place to say so to her – nor did he think Keigo would appreciate his ramblings.

So instead, he offered another smile to Nanao, before brushing a stray leaf that had tangled itself into her hair.

Nanao, eyes wide, stared – and for a moment, forgot that she'd called him to ask about Keigo.

* * *

Sometimes, it felt as though Nanao were in a fake relationship with Oshitari-kun, instead of Keigo (and yes, there were _many_ things wrong about that one sentence alone). To be sure, she only held hands and hugged Atobe, but there were times when she saw Oshitari more than she saw Atobe, if only because he was such a busy person, that he cancelled their plans a lot. And when he did, Atobe often sent Oshitari in his place – who showed up with that ever-present smile, a witty quip, and a romance novel tucked neatly under one arm.

Oshitari made her feel much more at ease than Keigo ever did – he was more…_normal._ Of course, he, too, had his severe eccentricities, but they weren't too bad, so long as Nanao was careful not to allow the conversation to tangent into talk about romance novels. He was quiet, but full of interesting conversation, and he was, in fact, the perfect gentleman. He didn't, like Keigo did, relish in pointing out her failures while crowing about his own achievements.

Together, they studied for literature exams and sipped tea at the nearby café, explored hole-in-the-wall bookstores and spent a few peaceful hours at the park, indulging in the simplicity of _silence._ She actually quite enjoyed his company, Nanao noted – he was calm and muted, though not without a wonderfully unique personality of his own.

And as of late, she felt an unfamiliar fluttering in the pits of her stomach whenever she saw him around, that only increased rapidly when he turned to greet her, or speak to her.

Even now, as she sipped quietly at the can of soda he'd conjured for her while fetching his own at the vending machine per her request, she couldn't help but to glance at him every once in a while. He sat across from her at the lunch table, and beside her, Keigo tossed insults back and forth with Mukahi-kun; Keigo's arm draped comfortably, familiarly, across her shoulders, and Nanao's head leaned towards Keigo, as she'd developed a habit of doing.

"Well, _you're_ a Monkey King," Gakuto sniffed.

"How dare you bring up that name here," Atobe murmured, an irate edge to his words.

Nanao idly wondered what this entire 'monkey' business was about – she'd been hearing that nickname for a while, but every time it came up, Keigo's face turned an unattractive shade of purple, and she'd lost her chance to ask about it.

"Well it's true," Gakuto huffed.

"Don't ruffle his feathers so, Gakuto," Oshitari murmured, and one hand reached out to brush softly through his partner's dark red hair. Gakuto only stuck his tongue out at Oshitari – who missed it, with his eyes still lost in the text of his latest book.

"Quite silly, aren't they? Suzuki-san?"

Oshitari's eyes rose to meet hers – and in surprise, Nanao fumbled with the can, only to drop it on the table. The aluminum can clattered onto its side, and the bubbly contents fizzed its way off the side of the surface; for a long moment, all boys at the table stared at her in silence.

Gakuto was the first to react, bursting into laughter; Shishido's curses as the soda dripped onto his pants followed soon after, along with the soothing ramblings of Choutarou. Oshitari offered an amused chuckle, and Atobe flicked her on the forehead.

"Silly girl," he murmured, and Nanao flushed.

* * *

"She's a terrible handful, that girl," Atobe tsked.

Oshitari lifted a brow at him from across the table, his own teacup pressed lightly against his lips. "Suzuki-san?"

"No, your great grandmother," Atobe's dry response met amused ears.

"Sarcasm is terribly unbecoming on you."

"Pointless questions make you seem positively imbecilic."

"Stop with the flattery – I blush."

"As soon as Hyotei is over, I'm filing for a restraining order against your presence."

"You would perish without me."

"Nonsense."

"In any case, I find Suzuki-san's presence quite a nice addition to our usual group – don't you think?"

A pause. "She's silly."

"She's also quite intelligent, if you haven't noticed."

"One couldn't tell from Greek class."

"Mm, yes, her severe lack of proficiency in that class still astounds me."

"It's horrific, really-"

"But, Keigo, you must admit – she's refreshingly honest, isn't she? With her opinions, I mean."

"Yuushi, are you trying to say that I need _more_ people 'refreshingly honest with their opinions'? I got called a _Monkey King_ today by that unruly child raised by heathens-"

"Gakuto's father is in charge of your father's stock investments, Keigo."

"That is of trivial importance."

"Mm."

"She's…alright, I suppose."

A short laugh from Oshitari. "She's already grown on you. I can tell."

"Just shut up."

"I know you too well."

"_Shut up._"

* * *

"Hey, Keigo-kun?"

"Hm?"

"Are you… are you okay?"

Atobe looked up sharply, to find Nanao's hesitating presence from across the table. She had set aside her own homework, and had her small hands folded neatly atop the wooden surface; painfully earnest eyes blinked in careful worry, and Atobe wanted to cover her eyes just to escape from the stark curiosity there.

God, even her _eyes_ were honest.

"Fine. Why?"

Nanao licked her lips. "Because you don't look fine."

Damn her honesty – why couldn't she have the social sense to simply pretend not to notice when it became clear he didn't want to address it? Refreshingly honest, his monkey ass. Atobe regarded her with a level gaze, and waived his hand dismissively. "I said it's fine, didn't I? Return to work, Nanao – your Greek still needs much work."

And then he resumed typing on his own laptop – attempting to go through the large document that he'd prepared for his father's meeting with a business client the other day. A document that his father hadn't even _glanced_ at, but simply told him: "Do it again, Keigo. I've taught you better than this."

At that, he'd have loved to differ – because his father hadn't, excuse his French, taught him bleeding _shit._ No, everything he knew, he'd learned and sought out on his own. And when he presented a perfected knowledge, his father simply nodded, as though he'd taught his son everything, and it were _expected_ that he would know such things.

His fingers pressed against the black keys a little harder, and the clacks of the keyboard grew a little louder.

Nanao licked her lips again, though didn't make a move to pick up her books. "You're going to break your laptop at that rate, you know," she dared to comment – and when Atobe looked up with the intention of quelling her with a glare, he found such a harmless expression on her features, that his ire faded away into a sigh.

"I'm _fine_, so just-"

And then, Atobe paused.

"It's just so very _irritating_, that's all," he finally said – though he regretted allowing the words to slip from his lips soon after.

Nanao, however, tilted her head gently. "What is?"

Atobe considered telling her to shush and resume her Greek studies. But then – what good would that do her, anyway? The language obviously abhorred her, and she was probably cursed by one of the Greek gods or another to fail repeatedly at the subject.

Instead, he took his fingers off of the keyboard, and his glance flickered her way. Nanao continued to stare at him.

"I just- I'd sometimes like to know just _where_ his expectations lie, so that I could ever hope to _surpass_ them. But he never says a word, only _expects_, so I blindly do everything in the hopes that he would be pleased – but he's only ever found my progress _acceptable_, despite the fact that the things I've accomplished are nothing short of moving heaven and earth-"

Atobe stopped himself, then, as if only just realizing the words he were saying. He cleared his throat, and resumed typing. His eyes focused on the laptop screen before him.

"Well. Your dad's just silly, then," Nanao murmured – and she said it with such simplicity, with such childish determination, that Atobe couldn't even find it in him to grow irritated over her slandering the name of her father.

Instead, he found a chuckle bubbling from his throat, and he glanced at her with amusement shining from his eyes. Nanao shrugged, and finally, finally returned her attention back to the textbook in front of her. Atobe, too, resumed typing-

-until he felt something nudge his foot softly from under the table.

He lifted his gaze and quirked his brows at Nanao.

Nanao, with her eyes still focused on the book in front of her, murmured with an air of nonchalance: "And you know you're brilliant, so why bother yourself with worrying so much about impressing the one person on earth who wouldn't be impressed even if Zeus himself rocketed out of the sky and shot him with a thunderbolt?"

And this time, Atobe laughed outright; in fact, he laughed so hard, that his fingers slipped and typed the wrong characters onto the word document.

Nanao smiled a small smile, lower lip chewed beneath her upper lip. She continued in her entirely wrong translations of the _Iliad._

* * *

**A/N:** So... how was it? Please review, and tell me what you think of this story so far! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: I know, I know – so long from the last update! Ugh, sorry guys, I've been so busy. But hey, it's summer break now, so I'll have plenty of time – never fear, my dear, lovely readers. I hope you know that I cherish each and every one of the reviews you guys leave me, and feedback is always really important to me. So drop a review – or I'd love to even talk about fanfictions and such with you if you PM me, or something! Haha!

This chapter's a little shorter than usual, but the plot starts to pick up, and longer chapters, too!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own PoT.

* * *

Sunday morning found Nanao seated at what was, apparently, the regulars' weekly morning tea at the Atobe estate. A large umbrella loomed over their heads as they ate at the ornately wrought metal table – fashioned, of course, in a rectangle, just so that Atobe could claim the 'head' seat. Nanao sat to his right, and Oshitari to his left, and the rest of the regulars had assembled themselves haphazardly throughout the remaining seats.

Nanao sipped at her tea.

She also glanced surreptitiously at the strange ensemble before her: Oshitari-kun, nose buried in his book as usual – until Mukahi-kun latched onto his arm, bright tufts of red hair nuzzling at Oshitari's cheeks. Kabaji chewed sternly upon a piece of bread, right beside Hiyoshi, who applied jam to a slice of bread with an uncanny sort of precision for such a simple act; Choutarou smiled lightly as he mixed a bit of milk into his tea, all the while listening attentively to whatever it was Shishido grumbled. And Atobe? He, well-

"Stop looking so petrified, Nanao – it's just morning tea," he demanded, loudly, imperiously, and peered over his black shades to send her a raised brow. Nanao laughed hesitantly.

"Right."

She reached forward, pale, thin fingers outstretched towards the fine china-

_Clang!_

The cup rattled along with the rest of the table, and Nanao snatched back her hand with wide eyes and quivering lips. What had just-? She glanced sideways just in time to catch the vision of a splatter of jam sliding slowly down Shishido's throat and onto his shirt. Gakuto, from two seats away, cackled, the jam knife waved merrily about in the air-

-and Shishido was snarling and turning scarlet and rushing across the table faster than Choutarou could reach out to stop him-

-Oshitari gave them a passing glance, before peering back at the book, despite Gakuto's cries of "Yuuushiiii! Save meeeeee! This brute is going to _kill me_-!"-

-the table rattled again as Shishido reached Gakuto – whereupon Gakuto leaped onto the table with an impressive agility-

-the sunlight glinted off of Atobe's sunglasses, and from a distance, Nanao heard a quiet, murmured 'gekokujo'-

-Shishido caught Gakuto by the hem of his shirt, and the smaller boy went tumbling down, knees crashing into the butter and hand sliding along into the delicate pastries-

-Nanao let out a squeal when Gakuto's fumbling hand pushed the cup of tea onto her lap (thank goodness it had cooled-

_Snap!_

And suddenly, everything screeched to a standstill. Kabaji had, in a surprising display of speed, rushed forward and swept Gakuto off the table with one arm, and held him dangling several feet off the air. Shishido now clutched at nothing. Choutarou mourned the mess with a devastated expression, Hiyoshi sighed, and Oshitari had yet to look up from his book.

Atobe's hand was still in mid-snap. The sun gleamed off of his glasses once more.

"Can you uncivilized ruffians not enjoy _one peaceful morning tea?_ We've been attempting a successful tea since _first year of junior high_, you mongrels," Atobe murmured, in a long-suffering sigh.

Gakuto rolled his eyes, before sticking his tongue out at Atobe.

"Gakuto, shove that offending muscle back inside your mouth. And Nanao-"

Nanao snapped to attention. "Y-Yeah?"

"The maid will show you to the restroom, and supply you with a fresh change of clothes."

"…R-Right-"

And as she stumbled out of her chair to follow the directed maid, Nanao couldn't help but to pause. "Attempting tea since first year of junior high-"? Did that mean that, for the past _five years_, not _one_ tea time had passed peacefully?

Nanao's eyes widened at the horrific realization that she would, most likely, be expected to sit in on these weekly mornings from now on.

* * *

Hyotei Gakuen allotted an hour's period each day for 'study hall' – students in clubs participated in club activities, and the remaining student body were _supposed_ to busy themselves with studying for whatever it was they desired; usually, though, they simply ended up chatting and roaming the campus. Nanao, as the vice president of the student council, often relegated herself to the council room in order to finish the vast piles of paperwork that the president neglected. The room was usually empty, save herself, and the luxurious pieces of upholstery oriented about its interior.

Nimble fingers had just finished carefully placing the student council's seal of approval onto a club application, when the door opened and closed swiftly with a loud bang. Nanao heard the click of the door lock before she could swivel her head around from her seat on the sofa to check who the visitor was.

When she did, she found Atobe, crossing the room in large strides until he stood directly beside her. Nanao blinked and lips parted to ask "What are you doing here?" Just as she did, the tall boy promptly draped himself across the sofa, and his head fell softly into her lap, eyes closed.

Nanao stilled for a moment, before her fingers came to prod at his closed eyelids. "I _said_, what are you doing here, Keigo?"

"Tennis practice was cancelled today; some moron lost control of the hose, and now the courts are doused in puddles of water."

Nanao hummed, before: "But why are you _here_?"

She saw one cobalt eye crack open to give her a disapproving glance, not unlike the ones tired mothers gave their persistent children when they asked too many questions. Nanao pursed her lips, and had been about to pinch the bridge of his nose-

-when she heard a thundering of heels down the hall just outside the door, and squeals and giggles and-

Nanao glanced down at the grimace that flitted over Keigo's expression.

_Ohhh._

And then, she had to fight down the urge to laugh – now that tennis practice was cancelled, and he was no longer safely behind the tennis gates, the fangirls had _direct access_ to their beloved 'Atobe-sama.' Strange, though. Nanao would have figured Atobe the type to have loved the opportunity to preen to the masses-

-then again, the girls _did_ get quite out of hand, sometimes. She supposed that Keigo deserved a rest.

So with a wry smile, Nanao patted his forehead softly, and brushed a stray hand through his hair before picking up another club application. "I hope you know that really, you're not allowed in here," she murmured, though in a perfectly soothing tone.

"I'm the president."

The papers in her hands rustled.

"The _ex_-president," Nanao corrected.

"I will _always_ be the president, commoner."

Nanao pinched the bridge of Atobe's nose, and pretended to study the club application form when Atobe's eyes momentarily opened to narrow at her.

"You can nap – I'll wake you up in time for class."

* * *

When Oshitari used his spare key to enter the council room in an effort to retrieve Atobe for their class – soon to start – he found, instead, Nanao working quietly on the sofa, with a lightly dozing Atobe in her lap. She hadn't noticed his quiet entry yet, so he took the opportunity to observe the two behind glinting glasses. A small smile spread on his lips.

Suzuki-san and Keigo had, needless to say, progressed into a sort of enviably comfortable companionship that surprised even Oshitari. They were purely platonic on every possible level, which seemed to be for the best, given that they were constantly expected to hold hands or brush shoulders or even, occasionally, share a hug or two in public.

It seemed that if only due to Suzuki-san's tactless blunt nature, as well as the circumstances under their first meeting, that Keigo often found himself being completely, brutally honest in return, nevermind the normal charm and suave mannerisms he usually carried. And Oshitari, Oshitari found himself liking this Keigo – this refreshing, always-pertinently-honest Keigo, who felt free to snort and act childish and-

-well, he always acted that way around the team anyway, but it was nice to see him being honest in front of an outsider, too. Oshitari liked the Keigo that popped up when he was around Suzuki-san. And that meant, by extension, he quite liked Suzuki-san, too.

He walked forward, then, and cleared his throat.

Subtle.

Nanao's head swiveled, and she greeted him with a smile and a wave of her hand, which currently held a club application in its grasp. Oshitari pointed at his wristwatch, at which point Nanao's eyes widened in recognition. He saw her pat Keigo's arm lightly.

He roused immediately, eyes blinking as though he hadn't even been asleep. (Oshitari had always found his ability to wake up immediately into full alert a bit unnerving). Atobe paused for a moment, glanced at Nanao, peered at Oshitari, and sat up smoothly. Nanao reached over to place the papers on the table and stopped when Atobe leaned in, and for a few minutes, the two shared quiet, murmured words too low for Oshitari to overhear.

It came to an end as Nanao passed Atobe a dry stare, and Atobe's lips broke out into a smirk.

Oshitari watched it all with a smile – did they even realize, he wondered, how effortlessly close they'd become?

"Yuushi, that smile of yours is terribly unbecoming, and borderline creepy – cease it at once."

Oshitari's smile widened.

"Why, I've a muscle condition – how insensitive of you, Keigo darling."

"Muscle condition, my ass."

"Such crude language."

"I've known you for nearly 6 years now, Yuushi – the only condition you've ever had is your impulse to mentally size up the measurements of girls."

"I never took you to be ignorant and cruel of others' disabilities."

"Yuushi, _shut up._"

"You're a heartless monster."

"God, you're incorrigible."

"Ah, finally, a _compliment_-"

Nanao simply laughed.

* * *

The following Wednesday found Nanao, Oshitari and Atobe in the private Atobe library once more. This time, though-

Nanao fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat, but kept her eyes glued to the textbook's print open in her lap. To the seat left of her, Oshitari read yet another romance novel, unruffled as ever. In front of her sat Atobe – who, from his grim expression, could have been mistaken for someone who'd just lost their tenth child in war. As was his habit (as Nanao had learned) when angry, he typed furiously away at his laptop, to the point where Nanao feared for its durability.

Nanao peered carefully over the edge of her book, and parted her lips as if to say something- but caught the warning glance of Oshitari over the edge of his own book, and quelled.

Keigo had been in a bad, bad mood ever since the two had come over that morning. He wouldn't breathe a word to either of them, about anything, and though it seemed that Oshitari-kun had probably figured out what had happened, Nanao was left scrambling for any semblance of an idea.

A few more minutes passed in tense, angry silence, before-

"The sir would like to see you in his study, Keigo-bocchama."

Nanao froze, and eyes darted to the butler at the door. She peered back at Atobe. She found him completely still, and could positively feel the ire rolling off of his shoulder in waves; she hesitated to say something, but once more lost her nerve when she saw the look in his eyes.

At last, Atobe stood, and stormed out the room.

Nanao only breathed a sigh of relief when the door slammed shut. She let her book drop onto the desk, and plopped her cheek down on it, too, facing Oshitari. "What was that?" she asked, lips pursed wryly, concern shimmering lightly in round, inquisitive eyes.

Oshitari finally understood by what Keigo meant when he grumbled about 'those damn fucking eyes look like they're rummaging for answers all the time.'

"Most likely his father."

Short, succinct, and hopefully, she won't dig further.

"Oh. I see."

She didn't.

"Hey, Oshitari-kun?"

Pause.

"Yes?"

"Why do you like those romance novels so much?"

Ah – perhaps she _was_ catching on to social nuances. Changing the subject – very nice. Oshitari supposed he'd play along, too; he set down his book, and smiled at Nanao whilst turning to face her directly. Nanao blinked, offering a hesitant smile of her own. "Because – they're enjoyable."

"But why, though? Aren't there plenty of other genres?"

Oshitari's smile grew a tad wider, and for some reason, Nanao's heart skipped a beat when he leaned in slightly. "Well, see, Suzuki-san – romance novels are fascinating for their supposed insight into the human psyche. The nature of humans when they are presented with overwhelming hormones, emotions, and irrational reactions to said agents."

"Did you know, Suzuki-san? Supposedly, when one likes another emotionally, a physical reaction follows, too – the quickening of the heartbeat. Flushed skin. Perspiration glands pushed into overdrive. I'm sure you know, the usual."

Nanao's eyes widened.

"Ah – do you feel that way, perhaps, when Keigo's hand brushes yours?"

"Um. No."

Oshitari laughed, and swept up from his seat. "That's a pity. Well- I'll go exchange this book for another, if you'll excuse me for a moment."

And when he slid past her, his knuckles grazed Nanao's shoulder – and she could swear, in that moment, her heart had sprung wings.

**READ. AND REVIEW? :D**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Another quick chapter for you all! Hehe – I really loved all your reviews for the last chapter, and I promise, as soon as I have the time, I'll reply to all of them! Read and review this chapter too, please!

- NOTE: yes, I did rewrite this chapter just now. Well, not rewrite, but just add and edit a little; I wrote this in an extreme rush because I had somewhere to go, but wanted to put the chapter up first, and the quality suffered terribly from that. I'm so sorry my readers - for those of you who had already read and reviewed, please do so again!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

Had someone told her two months ago that she'd be dating Atobe Keigo – or even _pretending_ to date him – she'd have laughed. In fact, if someone had told her that they'd be on the terms in which he regularly summoned her to his lunch table, in which she had the privy of messaging him whenever she wished, she'd have doubled over with laughter. After all, he was _Atobe Keigo_; the almighty emperor of Hyotei, the king, the crowned leader upon his golden throne.

But now, Nanao knew otherwise.

In some ways, Keigo was an even _bigger_ fantasy than the rumors and the masses made him out to be; when one truly came to know him, one came to see that someone like Atobe Keigo _simply could not exist. _

Nanao was used to rich kids – she walked along the halls of Hyotei, after all, and many would even classify _her_ as one of their ranks: born from generations of money, in a comfortable manor, with a hefty trust fund that would enable her to live comfortably for the remainder of her life. Atobe, though, was far wealthier than she could have even imagined, than the limousines and rose petals and glossy leather shoes could have ever hinted at. The other day, Nanao had spilled a dollop of jam on her blouse; upon coming to the conclusion that no napkins were to be found nearby, Atobe produced a _banknote_ for her to use-

-a _10,000 yen bill_ **(1)**.

Nanao had gaped with horrified eyes as he'd carelessly patted it over the stain, clucking at the red smear, as though nothing else were out of the ordinary. _"What are you doing?"_ she'd finally gasped, only to be met with a dull stare and an arched brow.

He told her that he didn't carry any smaller bills, as though_ that_ was a sufficient justification.

His personality, too, was something else, in and of itself. Sure, students school-wide referred to him as the emperor, the king, the leader of Hyotei's masses – but never before had Nanao seen someone like Atobe, who felt no shame or embarrassment at all in referring to _himself_ as the very title. He carelessly dropped titles, impressed his standing among others, and shamelessly _announced_ himself wherever he went.

Just last week, he'd made it a point to stand upon the entrance to the cafeteria, poised, still, hand raised above his head- _Snap!_ Nanao wasn't even sure how everyone in the noisy cafeteria had heard that singular snap, but in a moment, everyone had shut their mouths and turned adoring eyes to Atobe's figure. "Ore-sama is here, na," he'd declared, in that low, sickeningly confident tone of his, and everyone had burst into _applause._

From behind him, the various regulars snorted and rolled their eyes and sighed, as though it were an overrun scene. Nanao only stared, slack-jawed, until: "Nanao, close your jaw. You look like a trout."

But despite all these curious, half-horrifying things, Nanao also came to find that Atobe was far more _human_, and _normal_, than he'd ever want the rest of the world to find out.

Despite his dramatic flair and love for theatrics (as well as the penchant to _announce_ his arrival wherever he went), Atobe wasn't impervious to social propriety; he did, in fact, know that he was out of the norm, and that certain things could not be done without expecting a wave of rumors, speculations and tribulations. He knew that his actions had repercussions from society – but he was so secure, so very _aware_ of just how popular he was, that he also knew that he'd be able to commit murder, and be lauded for his prowess from his adoring fans.

He grew tired, as everyone else did. In the tennis courts, he was king, he was _god_ – he did as he pleased, fluttering jacket upon his shoulder and the unchallenged obedience from the club members. He seemed to be almost _invincible_ to Nanao, when he stood atop the bleachers, eclipsing the very sun from where she sat: that's what she'd used to think, and most likely, what most of the masses did, too.

But he'd come to seek momentary reprieve from the harsh workload the life always seemed to have for Atobe, that day, when he'd come to take a nap in the council room. Nanao, after all, was always the quiet kind of companion that one didn't have to worry about, who didn't bother their peers when they wanted silence.

And in that respect, Nanao had come to learn that Atobe wasn't quite all that delusional, either, or as self-absorbed. Ah, but that wasn't to say that he wasn't those traits entirely – certainly, he was likely a hundred times more delusional and self-absorbed than healthy or recommended for the average teenager. He simply wasn't as bad as what she'd _thought_. And Nanao had initially thought he belonged in a straight jacket in a mental ward.

(She still did, sometimes).

He wasn't always blindly loving of the adoration he received from his fans, and like Nanao, had long since come to learn that they idolized his image, his kingly persona – the _idea_ of the person named Atobe Keigo, not the person himself. And it seemed to her that he had long since come to terms with it; what else could he do?

He was undeniably selfish ninety nine percent of the time, but in that small percentage margin, he was far more selfless than Nanao had ever seen anyone to be, and his selfishness had never gotten in the way of his unending care for those he called his friends. He was a ridiculously rich boy, to be sure – but he'd never thought of himself as better or anyone else as worse because of his financial status, and he did, Nanao acquiesced, certainly work hard enough for the hefty allowance his father gave.

And most of all, he was _real._ He wasn't the flawless emperor of Hyotei – he was simply _Keigo_, the boy who liked to hold glasses of wine as he talked simply for the feel of the glass against his palm, who always, always attempted to impress his father around every turn. He was Keigo.

Nanao liked Keigo more than she liked the Emperor of Hyotei.

* * *

Atobe had come to grow fond of the girl. Of course, he'd die and mutilate his own tongue before ever admitting it to that smug, grinning Yuushi, but he had – she was refreshingly honest (even if sometimes it would have done her well to simply shut up), and she wasn't like a lot of the other mindless sticks that called themselves _girls._ Nanao, for some strange reason, didn't feel the need to participate in the social customs that teenagers their ages usually did: she didn't flutter her lashes and pretend to be any weaker than she actually was, and she certainly didn't try to act dumb, or silly, or cute, around the regulars.

As for the dumb part, she seemed to be a natural whenever it came to Greek class, so any additional acts of being stupid would have been overkill.

She was a bit of an old soul, he had to admit - she preferred to spend lazy afternoons bathed in sunlight, drinking tea, than going out for movies or parties like a lot of others their age enjoyed, and more often than not, she found museums and showcases _fascinating_. It wasn't so much maturity, really, as much as having skipped the hormonal, thrill-crazed teenager phase that their peers were currently involved in.

Nanao also didn't occupy herself with asking unnecessary questions. She didn't feel the need to fill every stretch of silence with words, and she was the kind of person who knew how to contentedly _enjoy_ a reprieve from conversation - the kind of person one could read a book alongside for hours, and not feel awkward about doing so at all. Certainly, she had her moments: when she was persistent (god, was she persistent) about finding out an answer to something one didn't really want to divulge, with those damnably curious eyes of hers. But for the most part, she didn't pester one for answers about things that one didn't want to talk about.

She wasn't _socially obtuse_, really - she was simply impervious to the power plays and the airs and the social games that people so often found themselves partaking in.

And despite her sheer talent in _sucking_ at Greek, Atobe found her company something to be of a relief, now. There weren't very many people he could freely interact with, given that ninety percent of the people he knew, or knew him, were more 'zombie fan' than 'person.' For a long while, he'd only been really able to socialize with the tennis regulars as school friends – but now, he had Nanao, and he supposed he'd have to make do with what he had.

Kidding.

Sort of.

* * *

If one asked Oshitari his thoughts on Atobe Keigo and Suzuki Nanao's relationship, he'd simply respond with an easy smile and the adjustment of his glasses. It made sense, he'd say – because the people they were as individuals lent themselves to a unique sort of dynamic, that could, lightly, be called 'getting along.'

Nanao, Oshitari found, was ridiculously obedient, for reasons unknown; she wasn't exactly meek, or weak, or anything. It was simply as though her initial _instinct_ was to obey, and given Atobe's penchant to reign as king, it seemed to double in his presence.

Atobe was, well, _Atobe_, who had, for his tenth birthday, had a bona fide _crown_ designed, made and shipped from Italy, built of _real gold_ and embedded with glittering diamonds and rubies. If that wasn't an early indicator of which personality disorder he'd have later on, Oshitari wasn't quite sure what was.

It was fun, for a while, to watch the two interact – before it started to grow weird.

"Nanao. Fetch me my sword."

In the past few weeks, Nanao's seamless obedience and Atobe's second personality as the king of the land of delusions seemed to have, in some weird, twisted manner, taken the two back a few centuries. When paired with Nanao, Atobe's delusions of imperial rule had escalated several, several unhealthy levels, until they'd come to a full stop in the land of 'mentally unbalanced.'

Atobe sometimes slipped into a vocabulary usage that was befitting of the medieval times of Europe, and Nanao simply obeyed, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

The girl returned presently, with a racket bag in her hands, which she passed over to Atobe.

Ah, right. 'Sword' meant 'racket.'

Oshitari found Nanao's ability to _understand_ what Atobe meant when he was using his god-forsaken, century-confused language even stranger than Atobe's usage of said language.

In any case: yes, Oshitari found that a frank and honest presence like Nanao's could help Atobe, and he was glad that his friend had such a companion available. No, he did not think that this relationship was _entirely_ beneficial to either party, given the medieval state of things at the present time. Yes, he liked spending time with either of them. No, he did not like spending time with the both of them at the same time. For the same reasons stated above.

He was a tensai who had a penchant for unique things – but this _medieval thing_ was just a little step too far into the land of weird for his tastes to handle.

* * *

Nanao wasn't quite sure what it all meant – well, she was pretty sure she did, but she didn't like it. She didn't _want_ to like someone like Oshitari; there were so, so very many complications with that alone, given her current status as 'Keigo's fake girlfriend,' and the other fact that Oshitari Yuushi was a _weird person_.

He was terribly obsessed with those fluffy romance novels he always had in one hand, and often, his delusions regarding their plotlines and characters bordered on manic. He had a quietly sadistic streak Nanao had come to learn, wherein sometimes, he simply would _watch_ as one teammate or another flailed around, when he could clearly give them the solution. And worst of all, he was the best friend and right hand man of _that Atobe_, and Oshitari indulged Keigo in his kingly delusions almost all the time, simply for his own humor.

The dynamics between Oshitari and Keigo were something unlike anything Nanao had seen before. And, well, the individuals themselves were unlike anything she'd seen before, either, so.

Still, though – Oshitari-kun was actually awfully thoughtful sometimes, and he had been the one to ensure that she was settling in well, that she wasn't too disturbed by the sudden fake relationship at first. Atobe often bailed on their plans – most likely, as Nanao had been able to figure out now, due to his father – and Oshitari almost always stopped by on those times to keep her company. He was vastly different from Atobe in that he was flawlessly a gentleman at all times: charming, courteous, and thoughtful.

He approached, now, and Nanao could see him walking towards them from the glass doors to the library. She sat beside Atobe today on the couch, close enough that their shoulders and arms leaned against one another. She wasn't quite sure since when they'd become that way, but often, it felt more comfortable to lean against one another, to rest an arm on the other's shoulder, simply because it was a nature of habit. Nanao didn't mind, not really; she had a Greek textbook in her lap, and Atobe peered over her shoulder every once in a while to point out her answer was wrong.

Oshitari entered the library presently. Nanao glanced up from her book, and could feel her heart give a little jump upon seeing the usual smile he wore, and the little nod of greeting he sent her way. She jumped a little, then, jostling Atobe from beside her, and she hurried to give a little wave with her own hand. "Oh- um- hi, Oshitari-kun."

Atobe gave her a wide-eyed, furrowed-brows look, as though she were mental.

Oshitari only smiled pleasantly on, though he, too, arched a brow slightly.

He took his seat across from the two, and opened his romance novel almost immediately. Nanao settled back in her chair, though for the remainder of the day, she couldn't help but to peer over at Oshitari every once in a while – and every time she did, she couldn't help the odd little twist in her stomach, the little flop of her heart.

Of all the people to like, she just _had_ to fall for-

"Keigo, darling, would you fetch me a cup of tea?"

"How offensive, Yuushi. Ore-sama does not run around for the bidding of commoners. Nanao. Fetch Yuushi a cup of tea."

With a sigh, Nanao got up from her seat to pad down to the nearest kitchen.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Studying."

Nanao hardly spared the boy a glance.

Atobe gazed at her through bored, lidded eyes. He was carelessly, effortlessly sprawled across his sofa, displaying a sort of elegant air that shouldn't have accompanied such a position. He leaned his head against a propped hand, and with his other, tapped a pen idly against the upholstery. Atobe himself had long since finished studying for the quarter-final exams that started tomorrow (Hyotei had a penchant for 'upholding excellence' through adding _quarter-final _exams in addition to midterms and finals).

Nanao, however, looked a girl possessed, in his opinion. Atobe understood the desire to succeed, certainly, but Nanao always seemed to take it to levels that even he did not grasp. "Nanao. You have already guaranteed yourself an A on most of your exams with all this drab studying – need you study more?"

Nanao raised her head from the book, then, in her position cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table. She passed Atobe a dry expression, a brow arched. "_I_ actually need to study – unlike you." She really did envy his uncanny penchant for memorization. "I don't want just an _A_, I want _top scores._ I won't be able to make it into the top ten if I don't study more."

With that, she resumed her studies.

Atobe rolled his eyes. "You're being preposterous and uncharacteristically ambitious."

Nanao ignored him smoothly, and jotted another note down onto her paper from the textbook.

"Why do you want to get the ranking, anyway?"

Nanao had never particularly struck him as the prideful type, who wouldn't be satisfied with a high grade on its own.

"No, not really," she replied, eyes glued onto the book.

"Then why?"

Nanao paused.

"I- I don't know," she sounded distinctly uncomfortable. "Just because."

Atobe reached forward, and prodded her cheek lightly with the pen, brows furrowed. "That is not a sufficient explanation, commoner."

Nanao grumbled under her breath. "I don't know, I just-"

She let out a deep breath of exasperation. "I just want to impress my dad, okay?"

Atobe blinked momentarily, surprised. By the time he opened his lips to say something, Nanao had already resumed studying.

* * *

Nanao did not like Atobe's father. Or, well, she simply didn't like the relationship he shared with Keigo, was all. Nanao had come to learn of the quirks of Keigo's personality quite well in the past few weeks, including his tendency to ignore social norms, simply because he could. He did not care about what others thought regarding his actions (nevermind that most people thought he was a gift sent to the mortals from god most times), and he always, always acted in a terribly selfish way, disregarding others' clashing opinions.

With his father, though, things were different. Everything was different.

His father expected the world of Keigo.

Of course, the Atobe legacy wasn't something to be taken lightly - politics, massive corporations, hotel chains, restaurants, businesses of every size and variety, spread across ten countries and hundreds of cities. It was, quite arguably, an empire of its own, with its own laws and language and social nuances and balance. And Keigo was the successor to it all: a _multi-billion_, and as she once heard from Oshitari, projected to be _tri__llion_, dollar company. **(2)**

So she understood, really, the stringent standards his father set for Keigo, and why he did so. In fact, Nanao was often a tad bit envious, to be told the truth; her own father, after all, expected nothing of her at all, and when she did do something well, he laughed and patted her head - as if his small puppy had just learned to retrieve a tennis ball.

But the standards of the Atobes were in a different league of their own.

'Strict standards' should have been along the lines of straight A's, keeping up with homework, staying out of trouble, cleaning one's room - that was the norm for high school students, after all.

Keigo, however, answered to a different set of lofty expectations.

He compiled quarterly financial reports for the company, despite the fact that he had yet to even take business or economics college courses; he did, of course, have private tutors that taught him already the ins and outs of businesses, but still. He drew up employee reports from local branches to review and assess the business's performance; he oversaw inventory of several branches throughout Tokyo for several different businesses; he routinely, and actively, participated in shareholders' meetings from the moment he entered his second year of high school.

Once, Nanao even caught him toying with hedge fund numbers - in a simulation, of course, without touching the actual numbers.

All this, among a legion of other things that Nanao didn't even know about, she was sure. In fact, she didn't even understand a good portion of what he did tell her about; she simply nodded, and smiled, as if she did.

But she didn't, not really.

It wasn't _reasonable_, of his father to expect these things from Keigo, and to grow _irritated_ if Keigo didn't produce absolutely stellar work.

And what was worse was that Keigo thought of these things as _normal._

Keigo, the boy who had never lifted a finger in an attempt to impress a single person, had never stopped bending over backwards and in loops in order to attempt to receive a noncommittal 'Good work' from his father. To the rest of the world, the kind of person that Keigo was, naturally, effortlessly, was enough to leave them in gaping awe, to have an entire body of teenage students _clapping_ at his every move.

But it wasn't enough, it seemed, for his father.

Nanao wanted to tell him to snap out of it - that his father wasn't worth all of this, that it was borderline _manic_, how hard Keigo had to work, and how desperately he craved his father's approval.

It wasn't...healthy.

Oshitari-kun seemed to have learned of it a long while ago, and according to him, it was best simply just to stay quiet. It was one of the very, very few 'topics-not-to-be-discussed.'

Pah.

* * *

Atobe stared levelly at the girl sitting across the table; unlike usual, however, he didn't quite have the smirk across his lips, nor was he drawling at Nanao to go 'fetch' something. Instead, he sat quietly, chin propped by his hand, cobalt blue eyes observing her.

It was usually Atobe who was in the bad mood, between the two.

But today – today, _Nanao_ was in a terrible, foul mood, presumably from the fact that she had scored _twelfth place_ school-wide, and had failed to enter the top ten. In Atobe's opinion, it was _ridiculous_ to be so put off over twelfth place; he, of course, always held himself to be the best of the best – but given Nanao's personality, it was highly unusual for her to be so disgruntled.

"Twelfth place is still remarkable, you know," he murmured, then, taking a careful glance at Nanao.

Nanao's hand stilled, wrapped around a pen which she'd been using to take more notes. _More studying._

"Yeah, I guess," she replied, voice muted, and, Atobe noted, with a hint of bitterness.

"But you're upset."

Nanao raised her head to stare at Atobe. "No I'm not," she muttered, and returned her attention to the textbook once more.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes."

Nanao gave an exasperated, half-irritated sigh, before: "Yes, I am. Okay? I am, so just let me study in peace-"

"What's wrong with twelfth place?"

"Because it's twelfth place!" Nanao finally looked at him once more, pen and textbook forgotten on the table before her. Her eyes looked suspiciously watery – much to Atobe's horror – and she had a deep frown set upon normally-straight lips, an uncharacteristic expression for such a mild-mannered girl. It was, quite possibly, the first time he'd seen her upset at all.

"What's bad about being twelfth? You understand, Nanao, that there are approximately three hundred and sixty seniors in our grade-"

"It doesn't matter," she cried, frown deepening. "Because he's not _impressed_ with 'twelfth,' and he's hardly ever impressed by _tenth,_ and I just-"

Atobe arched a brow. "Will you get in trouble for your ranking?"

Nanao seemed to lose all her energy, then, as she slumped back in her seat. No, she would not get in trouble – after all, how could she fail the standards that never existed? For Keigo, it was likely that his father _expected_ first, demanded it, asked him of it. Nanao could only wish she were that lucky.

Her father didn't expect _anything_ of her – he never had, really, and she'd always simply been 'little Nana,' who, in her family's eyes, was most successful marrying a partner that could be a beneficial addition to the Suzuki corporation. Her older brother was a _brilliant_ business major with numerous accolades under his belt already in his third year at one of the most prestigious academies in Japan, and her older sister had always, always been 'stunningly beautiful' and academically gifted.

But Nanao had always just been _Nanao._

And for once, she'd have wished her father to clap her on the back the way he did her brother or sister, and say 'I'm impressed.'

"No," she murmured, quietly, and turned her attention back to the book.

Atobe took the hint and questioned her no further.

* * *

Atobe, despite his own, ah, cough, issues, with his own father, never quite recognized them as 'issues.' When it came to Nanao's, though, he was quick to realize that the girl had more than a few problems when it came to her own father.

He wasn't quite sure what it was, to be honest. He wasn't the type to ask questions, and she wasn't the type to bleed her feelings out to him as though he were a diary; most times, he relished in this sort of relationship, really, where one didn't feel the urge to question the other about every single detail of their existence.

But for whatever reason, she seemed to hold an _obsession_ with 'impressing' her father.

He hadn't listened much whenever the Suzukis were brought up, but to his understanding, the head of the Suzuki corporation was a notorious 'family man.' Business leaders who sought a connection to their company often used the tactic of asking about his family, about his daughter, his son, in order to strike up a conversation. He was the kind of man, Atobe had heard, who adored his three children more than anything.

So he didn't very well understand this compulsion she had to impress him, especially when it didn't even seem as though her father expected much of her anyway, to begin with.

She studied every single day in order to maintain the stellar ranking she had - she wasn't a genius, like Yuushi, or _brilliant_, like he himself was. Atobe wasn't being cruel, or insulting. Simply honest. She wasn't the naturally kind of gifted mind that could easily retain large amounts of information; Nanao was decently smart, he'd acquiesce, and what she lacked in natural ability, she made up in hard work and competence.

Ah, that was the word.

She was frighteningly _competent._

She was the sort of person who, if told to master a certain task by the end of the day, regardless of what it was, she would have it perfectly learned and memorized and repeated in several hours. Nanao didn't exactly have a natural aptitude at any one thing in particular, but she had a level of determination and study skills and drive to make sure that she could do anything that was asked of her.

Well, except Greek.

In any case: she worked so hard to the point where it even unnerved _Atobe_, who valued things such as hard work and practice and persistence. He never really understood why, until the first time he really observed her around the time of exams - the way she was hellbent on keeping her spot within the top ten scores, the way she sometimes slipped and talked about impressing her father with her scores.

It was kind of...eerie. It was strange, and it wasn't _healthy._

Atobe supposed he'd best talk to the girl about it, lest she have a mental breakdown sometime soon.

It wouldn't do for the girlfriend of Atobe Keigo to get branded a nutjob.

* * *

Oshitari should have known better than to allow Suzuki to enter the library and, consequently, Atobe's radius of disturbance, that day. It had been a while since the last time Atobe senior had called Keigo into his study, to tell him all the great and hefty expectations he had for him for the future. Talks like those always put Keigo deep on edge, unsettled with nerves frayed far more than he'd ever let Oshitari know.

Keigo, after all, had a near compulsive obsession with satisfying his father's expectations – expectations which, in Oshitari's opinion, were nearly insane.

His father expected the world of Keigo – of the sole heir to the vast Atobe empire in the years to come. He did not seem to understand, or even care, that Keigo, despite his stunning, lofty accomplishments, was only _eighteen_ – that he was not the brutal, experienced business tycoon that his father was, nor even yet a _man_, really.

No, Oshitari should not have let Suzuki into the library today. He should have intercepted her before she reached the doors, told her that Keigo was sick, and sent her running back home. Because at least then, this wouldn't have happened-

"Keigo, I think this is ridiculous. Your father is half _crazy_," Nanao huffed.

Oshitari's lips pressed into a thin line. _Ding._ Wrong thing to say.

"Please refrain from insulting my father."

Oshitari heard the frigid chill in his voice.

Nanao, unfortunately, did not.

"It's true. He can't expect all these things of you – things you can't possibly even do-"

_Ding._ Wrong again.

"I think I most certainly know my capabilities far better than you do, and yes, I can do them-"

"No, you can't! You haven't even entered _college_ yet and he's asking you to manage company stocks and-"

_Ding. _Wrong. So wrong.

"Do not underestimate me."

"I'm not underestimating you, I just- why are you so obsessed with what your dad expects of you, anyway? It's not healthy."

_Ding._ So wrong, it was beginning to hurt. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Oshitari felt his gut telling him to stop this – but he could only watch, in the same way one is rendered unable to do anything but watch in a sort of sick fascination at a train wreck.

"…what?"

"This whole compulsion to follow each and every one of your father's insane orders is _crazy_. He's crazy, and you're being crazy by going along with it all. Be a little rational, here-"

"_You_ want to talk to me about being _rational_ about our parents?"

There was a dangerous edge to Atobe's voice, that really, Oshitari should have caught sooner than-

"It's psychotic, the things he expects you to do-"

"_You're_ the one with some sick obsession to _impress_ her father," Atobe murmured in a low, dangerous tone.

"-what? No, I don't- No I don't." Nanao's voice, too, Oshitari noted, had taken a turn for the dangerous.

"Yes, you do. It's sick, and it's twisted, and it's sad, the way you try to do everything you possibly can to impress a man who just won't be impressed by you."

"_You're_ the one who has a fake girlfriend so you can please your father!"

"And who's the one who _agreed_ to be someone's fake girlfriend, so that _she_ could maintain a little grade to please _her_ father?"

"You can't possibly be using that against me-"

"At least my father _holds_ expectations for me."

Nanao seemed to freeze, then, and all prior glints of anger vanished at once from her gaze. Instead, her lips snapped shut; an increasingly uncomfortable expression overcame her. "…Fine," she ground out, lips pressing themselves into a thin, thin line.

"You can find yourself a new little girl to play servant to your craziness."

And she was gone, leaving the library doors swinging behind her.

Atobe fumed silently, angrily, on the sofa. In fact, Oshitari didn't think he'd _ever_ seen Keigo quite so angry - not even when that Echizen brat of Seigaku had shaved his hair for losing a match. His precious, precious hair.

And _this_ was why he'd kept silent about the very same opinions he held about Keigo and his father for years, now.

Oshitari wondered if it was pertinent for him to speak up, now.

A quick glance at the fury in Keigo's eyes told him it'd be best to stay quiet.

* * *

**(1)** A 10,000 Yen bill is approximately equivalent to a $100 dollar bill.

**(2)** Yes, I know Japan operates on yen, not dollars - but I wasn't quite sure on how to carry across the same meaning in terms of yen, so... Please forgive me. OTL


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** FOR ALL THE PEOPLE WHO REVIEWED: Firstly, thank you so much. I really do reach each one carefully and with love, and adore all of them, and thank all of you for reading and leaving me feedback. Secondly: **do not worry about a love triangle**_**. **_It will not happen. At all. Even remotely. And, for the people speculating upon the final coupling of the story, _please_ do not make premature assumptions, because it just might surprise you. Hehehehe.

On that note, please do review again, and tell me what you think of the story so far – the plot, the characterizations, Nanao, etc. Feedback is always important to me! 8D

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

Nanao was a mild-mannered girl by nature – everything about her, really, could be summed up with the word 'mild.' There was hardly ever a time when she felt or experienced anything _harshly._ Her emotions ranged from pleasantly content, to irritated, to slightly confused; she was never elated, or ungodly annoyed, or furious.

But today, today she was _furious._

She'd started off this entire nonsense in a latch ditch attempt to save her flailing Greek grade. It wasn't all that strange, Nanao reasoned – sure, from the outside, the phrase 'fake girlfriend' might have landed her in the loony bin. But if one really sat down and thought about it, it wasn't all that crazy. The boy was Atobe Keigo after all, and she was Suzuki Nanao; as children of large business magnates attending Hyotei, it was expected for the two to be married off to a suitable partner of their parents' choosing, anyway.

So what was the big deal, pretending to date someone? It wasn't exactly as if she'd later marry someone she really did love, either, and this was just a smaller example of what was to come. In fact, Nanao could even say it was _practice_ for the future.

It wasn't as though _she'd_ been the one to practically threaten Keigo into entering a fake relationship with her; it was quite the contrary, actually. Keigo had been the one to threaten her into this whole borderline insane mess, and Keigo had been the one to push the lines, to always act as though he were better than her.

He was the only son and heir to the entire Atobe corporate empire – his father had always, always preened with pride about him at all the galas she'd ever seen him at, and as far as she knew, his father's attentions had always been focused on him. Of course, it was a terribly large burden on Keigo. But his father's expectations, hopes and pride all lay in _him._

How could he understand how _she_ felt?

Nanao had only ever existed in the staggering shadows of her older brother and sister. She didn't mind much, not really; her family doted on her as the youngest child, so it wasn't as though she were sore for attention. No, it was simply that-

Nanao was not the type of girl whose only goal in life was to stay pretty and do as little work as possible and to allow herself to marry a rich husband who would give her an _easy_ life. Nanao wanted to work hard, she wanted to achieve things for herself – she wanted her _own_ life, and her own identity, that could stand on its own.

But her family only laughed at her for such ideas. They said that Nanao didn't have to push herself so hard, not to worry, because they'd take care of her forever.

They didn't even _consider_ the notion that perhaps Nanao could do something on her own, too.

It was lost beneath laughs and pats on her head and her father's soothing words to go and buy herself a pretty dress.

It was almost terrifying, how little they heard her words, how little they saw her efforts and achievements.

Keigo had almost _everything_ she'd ever wanted from her own father. Of course, it was in harsh excess; it was weighing him down and almost crushing him. Of course she'd had to say something-

But who had ever given Keigo the right to criticize her so?

He didn't know a single thing about her.

* * *

It had been a while, really, since he'd felt so angry. Atobe Keigo did not get _angry_. The world swept to its knees before his presence – crowds parted, girls fainted, and even the sun seemed to gleam a little brighter when he looked towards the skies. When would he ever have the need to grow angry, then?

Sure, when that little first year brat dared to lay a hand on his precious head, Atobe had felt a strange instinctive urge to _maul_ him (stopped only by the murderous intent swirling from none other than Fuji Shusuke himself, warning him that if he _ever_ tried to touch his precious little brat-). But that had been a crippling intent for _murder_, not anger. They were entirely different.

Today was different.

Today, Atobe Keigo was _furious_ – and hell hath no fury like a divine king (_diva_, Gakuto coughs) enraged.

He was a somebody. He was the one and only heir to the great Atobe corporations. _Of course_ his father held him in high regard, as well as equally high expectations. What else had that stupid, stupid girl expected?

There was nothing he couldn't do, and no expectations he couldn't meet, including his father's. They got difficult often, and yes, as of late, Keigo had been experiencing harsher migraines than before. But it was only to be expected – he was graduating into college, soon, and right after, he'd be appointed into a high ranking position in the company, from where he'd take over upon his father's retirement. It was only expected that he'd be pushed harder, now.

He had always lived with this sense of duty and obligation to his family, his father and the company. Keigo had always been an overly high achiever, and there had never been a single instance in which he failed his father's expectations, whether they demanded of him his blood, his soul- or more.

_Nanao_ had never experienced such crippling expectations.

Not when all her father could do was beam about his little darling princess simply for _breathing_, not when her father would sooner shave himself bald and prance around society than open his eyes and realize that perhaps his daughter wasn't the helpless pretty doll that he'd always wanted her to be.

Who was she to tell him that he could not possibly hope to meet the expectations, or that his father was too demanding? What did she know of his life, or his abilities?

She didn't know a single thing about him.

* * *

The following week spun around, and Atobe found his life, as always, continuing on. It was almost as though he'd simply gone back several months in time, before he'd ever even known of the existence so-named Suzuki Nanao. She was missing from his side, and he had yet to catch a glimpse of her around campus on her own, either.

It was _exactly_ like the time before he'd ever known her at all.

It shouldn't have made itself known as much as it did, her absence. It was almost strange, and quite the converse effect it should have had. Atobe found himself noting her presence – or lack thereof – even _more_ now that she wasn't around.

Kabaji, as usual, pulled up an extra chair to their lunch table for the person who would, ultimately, fail to show up.

A few times during practice matches, Atobe would glance up at the bleachers, the beginnings of a triumphant smirk on his lips – only to realize that Nanao was no longer there, sporting a resigned smile and a supportive clap of her hands.

He'd often reach forward on the table in the library for the cup of tea he presumed was there – he either grasped at empty air, or an empty cup. Atobe had long since stopped telling the household staff to refill his tea, after all, when Nanao had seemingly made it her own duty to refill his refreshment.

It was almost as though he'd grown entirely too used to her hanging around, that he felt her absence more than he'd felt her presence.

Perhaps it was a good thing, then, he reasoned, that she was gone.

It didn't make sense for her existence to have become such a common fixture in his life, and it wasn't something he welcomed.

Still.

Atobe had so completely enfolded her into his life, that now that she'd left, variables beyond his self noticed it, too. Oshitari, for one, had taken to giving him silent glances every once in a while, that let him know that the damned 'genius' didn't approve of the events that had transpired. And in those times, Atobe would level him a lofty glance of his own – he did not have anything he felt apologetic for, and nor had his words to her been unprovoked, either.

It wasn't _his_ fault that she was forever _obsessed_ with impressing a man who wouldn't deign to hold a candle in expectations for her. He'd only pointed it out, seeing as she'd almost succeeded in turning herself blind to her own pathetic ministrations.

How did that make him the bad person, anyhow? What right did she even have to be angry at him?

Nonetheless, the other regulars noted her absence, too, and it irked Atobe beyond belief whenever one of them found it prudent to _remind_ him that his 'girlfriend' was gone.

When had he even thought it a clever idea to formulate a fake girlfriend, anyway, with Oshitari the only confidante who knew she was fake?

Fucking geniuses.

* * *

This wasn't fair, Nanao thinks, as she presses herself behind a row of books. Her eyes glance sideways, head tilted slightly forward, so she can catch another glimpse of Keigo as he sits down at one of the tables. Nanao almost groans.

Since when had the guy ever deigned to enter the school library, to begin with? He had a perfectly normal one sitting at home, didn't he?

Besides. Nanao didn't understand why _she_ had to be the one to avoid him, instead of the other way around.

But then, she took a moment to ponder upon the very ridiculousness of what she'd just thought, and almost laughed. Keigo would never have to lower himself to avoiding _anyone_ – who would he be averse enough to to avoid, anyway? The entire world worshipped the very ground he walked upon, and anyone who was idiotic enough to incur the dislike of Keigo to begin with would be running to the ends of the earth.

Between she and Keigo, it was only obvious who would do the running.

Nanao was always the weaker one, after all.

She adjusted the heavy volume in her arms, and sighed. Was it possible for her to sneak out of the library unnoticed-?

"Isn't that position rather uncomfortable, Suzuki-san?"

Nanao nearly screamed when the sudden voice blew into her ear, though she managed to choke it down. She did, however, drop the heavy book she'd been holding, and it thumped onto the floor with an echoing, thunderous clap.

Shuffles were heard as heads turned to try to find the source of the noise.

Nanao stood, frozen and heart thudding, for a few minutes, before she managed to shake the paralysis out of her limbs and look up-

-straight at Oshitari Yuushi.

She felt her heart thud faster, more painfully.

Nanao flushed a bright, bright red, and she swooped down to retrieve the book.

But Oshitari _followed_, and in that moment, the two squatted face to face on the floor – one terrified, and one smiling in pleasant amusement. Nanao attempted to speak. All she managed were the silent opening and closing of her lips, instead.

Finally: "Um- Hello, Oshitari-kun," she whispered.

Nanao dared another quick peek around the bookshelf at the table at which Keigo currently sat, beside a stone-still Kabaji and wriggling Gakuto, who couldn't seem to sit still on the small chair. He hadn't seemed to notice any strange presence nearby – like her own – and Nanao turned back around. Still squatting, she leaned her back against the shelf, and sighed in relief.

"Hiding from Keigo?"

Brown hues rose slowly, almost unwillingly, to meet a pair of amused, cobalt blue. Nanao almost blanched at the cheerful smile pulling at Oshitari's lips. Still, though, she couldn't help the excitement of actually speaking to the boy for the first time in almost a week. Ah, ah – she was terribly shameless, wasn't she?

"No," she replied.

She pursed her lips at the widening smile Oshitari gave her.

"I'm _not_," she insisted.

The two were so uncannily similar in their stubbornness, Oshitari swore.

"So your reading place of choice is pressed against a dusty shelf, with a twitch in your neck that causes you to turn around every few minutes?"

Nanao's pursed lips tightened.

Her silence made Oshitari laugh shortly.

Nanao's brows furrowed in a deep frown. "Keep the noise down!" she hushed, a finger pressed seriously to her lips, lines of disapproval etched into her features.

"So you _are_ hiding from Keigo."

Nanao sighed deeply. "That wasn't even a question, Oshitari-kun."

His eyes twinkled with amusement. From what he could see, Suzuki wasn't very mad now – she had been, before, that day in the Atobe library. She'd surprised even Oshitari with her anger, all flushed cheeks and denial that was so painfully obvious that even she must have heard it in her words. Oshitari hadn't even known she was _capable_ of anger. But she had, and she'd shown no signs of concealing it when she'd told Atobe _everything _she thought of his father, and of his pursuit of his father's ideals.

Oshitari, to be honest, had thought the very same things for years. He'd just known better than to jab Keigo so harshly where it hurt most, because-

-it wasn't as though saying any of those things had changed anything.

Keigo would always, always chase after the expectations his father held for him, regardless of how lofty, how impossible. He'd always look above at his father on the ridiculous pedestal he'd mounted him upon, and he'd always be blinded by what he called the 'Atobe duty.'

It came from nearly two decades of ritualistic ceremonies and upbringing that firmly implanted such ideas, such idealisms, into his head.

A word or two from his best friend, or Suzuki Nanao, couldn't hope to scratch a dent in it all.

_That_ was what he'd wanted to tell Suzuki – that pointing fingers at Keigo and his father's twisted dynamics wouldn't change anything, would prove futile, and would result in nothing but an undesirable amount of unmitigated anger.

Unfortunately, she'd stormed past him before he could, and she'd burst open with all the things on her mind, the foolishly brave girl.

And now look at what happened.

Now the two were simply pointlessly irritated with one another, dancing around one another in careful circles, adamant about remaining angry when they didn't have an angry bone left. All that was left was resentment in the other for the fact that they'd pointed out things each other would rather have ignored – and in Atobe's case, resentment that he'd been quarreled with at all.

The two were just terribly _stubborn_ in their own ways.

It was maddening to Oshitari, whom had worked so terribly hard so that the two could develop the friendship they had now.

He could practically _see_ the stubbornness woven into the furrowed brows upon her head, and he could almost laugh at the hysterical similarities the two shared when being immature.

"He didn't mean those things, you know," Oshitari murmured, then. He rested his chin upon his arms, which were folded atop his bent knees; ah, even for an athlete such as he, squatting for so long was certainly uncomfortable.

Nanao regarded him with a wry expression. "Yes, well-" she paused, as though struggling for a response. "He ought to apologize, if he regrets saying the things he did."

"Oh, he doesn't regret it – since when had Keigo ever regretted a thing? Even when he'd made a bet that ended in him _shaving his head_, Keigo didn't regret it. He doesn't really _do_ regret."

Nanao sighed.

She forced down the momentary piqued interest at the words 'bet' and 'shaving his head.' Instead, she realized the overwhelming accuracy of Oshitari's words – Keigo _never_ regretted anything, really. He wasn't the type of person to make half-assed decisions, or even one to go through with actions not completely thought through.

If ever, he'd only said he made the _wrong_ decision – not regret.

Never regret.

Nanao, however, did regret.

And she regretted it, a little, to be honest. Regretted bulldozing Keigo with all her disapproval at his attempts to meet his father's standards – perhaps it had been a bit of jealousy, and resentment that she'd never had so many expectations from her own family mixed in, too. But she did regret it.

She regretted the fact that she'd so brutally said the things – but she didn't regret her words, either, because she'd meant every syllable.

Perhaps Nanao would have caved and apologized, had it been any other time. Keigo always _did_ tell her that she was too meek, too accommodating.

But not this time.

Keigo didn't know a thing about her own family dynamics – so how could he have been so quick to point a finger and make accusations about her own relationship with her father?

She wouldn't cave. She _wouldn't._ Not even with Oshitari's eyes regarding her with amusement, and reproach, and urging her to go make nice with Keigo.

He didn't have to say it for her to know why he'd approach her like this. She could practically see it bleeding out of his eyes.

"I won't apologize," she finally said, and tightened her lips.

Oshitari eyed her almost incredulously.

Nanao sighed again. "_Fine_," she amended. "I will. But after he does, first."

Oshitari almost rolled his eyes. What was it with these two and their incredible conversion into small, immature children when they fought with one another?

* * *

"Have you finally gone _insane_? Is it true, then, that all geniuses go mad at one point or another?"

Incredulity and offense bled from every word. Oshitari barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

"_Ore-sama_? Apologize? For what?"

It had been a while since he'd used 'Ore-sama' to him.

"It was _that girl_ who dared to insult me, first – insolent wench."

_Wench._ Wench, he said. Oh, god, Suzuki wasn't even here, and Keigo was still trapped in his century-confused vocabulary.

"And the things I said had all been _true_ – you know it, too. You've noticed it too, haven't you, YuushI? That girl drives herself half insane to try to impress her parents, and she hasn't even accepted the fact that no matter what she does, her father will never change his idea of his little girl being a helpless princess. It's almost pathetic."

Oshitari heard the pitying note seeping into Atobe's tone.

"One can't help but to feel bad for her, no? So what was I supposed to do? Pretend not to notice as she kills herself over expectations that _don't even exist_? It's hard enough when they exist; it's ridiculous to try to meet ones that don't."

A deep, dramatic sigh.

"Besides. Atobe's don't _apologize_. Because we're never wrong."

Oshitari almost bit his tongue in frustration.

* * *

If she were to be really, completely, truly, unabashedly honest, then yes, Nanao would admit: she missed Keigo.

It was strange.

They hadn't even been friends for that long, really. But he'd already made himself such a definite presence in her life, that gradually, everyday routines and chores had changed to include him in them.

Nanao hardly went a study session without instinctively reaching for her phone. She caught herself halfway through typing a text message to Atobe, asking him about Greek or mathematics questions she had difficulty with.

She felt a bit _lonely_ in the council room, now, when she signed and stamped and reviewed papers on her own, without the familiar weight of Keigo leaning against her, the sound of his critiques on her penmanship or pointing out how she'd made an error in one of the documents.

At times, she found herself making two cups of coffee, or two cups of tea, and coming back to the desk – to realize that he wasn't there to consume the other one. In those times, she'd obstinately drink both of them, to prove to herself that both were for herself, and that she hadn't unconsciously made one for Atobe.

And whenever she heard that the boys tennis team had gone to a practice match with another school, Nanao found herself listening in, even without realizing it, and cheering a little when Hyotei won.

She'd never even _understood_ how tennis game scores worked, before.

Nanao couldn't help it. She didn't like it, or even expect it, but she'd grown to become accustomed to, and even like, Atobe's constant companionship, even if it had started for a strange reason. It was a bit saddening, sometimes, but-

She couldn't apologize first.

She wouldn't be the meek Nanao who gave in, first.

Why was _she_ always the one to give in, to be weak?

At first, she'd simply been angered at his words. When the anger at that died away, she'd pondered apologizing first, just to get things over with – but then, Oshitari-kun had approached her and silently urged her to make amends with Keigo.

And that had her thinking.

And thinking grew to resentment.

She didn't _want_ to be 'silly Nanao,' who could be expected to apologize first.

No.

She wouldn't.

Nanao resumed writing her notes, then, seated by her lone self at a large table in the back of the library. A small sigh escaped her lips-

"God, sometimes, that Atobe pisses me off."

A thud on her table followed soon after.

A surreptitious glance revealed that two boys had seated themselves two chairs down from Nanao, at the same table – third years. She'd seen them around on the tennis courts, she realized, when she'd gone to wait for Keigo to finish practice.

But why would he dislike Keigo?

Who disliked Keigo, really?

"Yeah, seriously," his friend replied. "He thinks he's the shit or something, standing there and calling himself _Ore-sama._ Who the fuck does that?"

Nanao almost laughed out loud. The whole _Ore-sama_ thing was weird, she had to admit.

"It's fucking annoying how everyone kisses his shoes – he's not a freaking celebrity, damn. He's just a kid running around with his daddy's checks-"

Nanao's laughter died in her throat, and her eyes widened, instead.

"I bet that's how he got captain in first year, too. There's _no way_ a freshman could take over the club like that."

"What else is new? His daddy's money is always how he gets things."

"He can't do shit on his own-"

And at that moment, mild, meek Nanao stood up and made her presence very, very well known. The chair scraped along the floor loudly and caused the two boys to look up, startled.

"_You are_ the ones who can't do anything, except whine and complain in _jealousy_," Nanao announced, loudly. She took a quick, momentarily unsure glance towards the librarian's desk, and inwardly sighed in relief that, as usual, the old librarian had gone to take a lunch break.

When she looked back at the boys, she found two pairs of furious eyes staring back at her.

But the normally meek Nanao had become lost, somewhere, replaced instead with an angry, affronted Nanao.

"Who are you to say he can't do anything but use his father's money? And what about you two? Even _with_ all your parents' money, you couldn't make it onto the regulars on the tennis team."

One of them made an insulted sound, strangled in the back of his throat.

"And who the _fuck_ are you?"

Nanao pursed her lips thinly. "_I'm_ someone who was heavily disturbed by your profound lack of _actual_ thinking, and rudely jolted out of my studying by obnoxious, brainless comments."

At the completely bewildered – and slowly turning to insulted – looks on the boys' faces, Nanao continued on, a superior gleam to her eyes.

"Atobe Keigo works harder every _second_ of the day than you two ever have, combined, in a whole _year._ To claim that he bought his way into the captaincy is completely ridiculous, considering that he could wipe the floor of the tennis courts with you both in two seconds, and that he's almost always lead his team to victory – money doesn't buy you wins in tournaments, or the skill and discipline that he has."

To be quite honest, Nanao _didn't_ know the exact specifics of the tennis team's victory streak. She barely held an interest for sports as it was, so how could she be expected to follow the team? She had, however, heard that the tennis team was very, very good, though, so-

It couldn't _hurt_ to throw these things out there, right?

Nanao gathered up her books in her arms, then, and glared down at the boys haughtily (or, as haughty as she could muster an expression – as she'd learned from Keigo). "Clearly, if you two believe that success can so easily be bought, perhaps you should work on sharpening your own lacking mental abilities, before trying to criticize someone who has already made so much of himself."

And then, as an afterthought: "Jealousy is a terribly ugly color, especially on boys."

With a last triumphant look, Nanao humph'ed, and swept out of the library, nose held high and trying not to show her trembling arms at the weight of her books.

* * *

READ. REVIEW. LOVE. 8D


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** For those reading **Rising Ambitions** – I know, I know, you're all waiting for my update on that story, too. TT^TT I'm sorry I'm so slow with that; I'm in a stagnant phase with my muse for that story right now, but not to worry, I definitely will add a new chapter to RA soon, too.

Thank you to all those who reviewed, once more – I love all my readers, hehe. I'll be replying soon privately to all the reviews that were given to the last chapter by signed-in readers! 8)

As always, I'd love to hear your feedback on this next chapter. 8D

**WARNING:** Some bad language coming up in this chapter. Sorry! 3:

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

* * *

Nanao sat one bright Thursday afternoon in her usual corner of the library – this time, however, surrounded by a mountain of books that even exceeded her usual amount. If one ventured closer to the girl, one may have been able to hear it: the frantic flipping of pages, the rapid scritch-scratches upon paper. The desperation in the air was _palpable._

Her math class had a test tomorrow, and despite all of her attempts, Nanao couldn't begin to understand the concepts introduced in this chapter. It wasn't usually like this of her to have difficulty with this particular subject. Math was one of the subjects she usually did decently in, and though she may not score perfectly on tests, she could, for the most part, effortlessly understand the material taught in class.

This chapter, however, had pushed her on a particular stump that she couldn't seem to overcome.

Her hands twitched with the longing to flip open her phone, to call Atobe and ask for help, or to even text him a few problems. But then, she remembered that she was angry at him – or was supposed to be – and with a stubborn line along her lips, shoved her phone deep into her backpack.

Nanao turned back to her textbook with renewed determination.

It crumbled quickly when she read the next problem.

"You'll have wrinkles by the time you hit your twenties at this rate, Suzuki-san."

Nanao's eyes shot upwards at the smooth, amused voice, and she felt the familiar rush of heat to her cheeks when she found Oshitari looking down upon her piles of books. He held yet another romance novel tucked under an arm, and without waiting for Nanao's hello, sat himself in the seat across from her. Nanao forgot to say hello at all when he offered a small smile at her.

"Please, don't mind me. I'm simply passing some time by reading."

Nanao blinked, then, and attempted a smile of her own. "Oh- hi, Oshitari-kun."

Oshitari chuckled. "Hello to you too."

Nanao forced her attention back to math, despite the unsettling delight at the boy's presence. She found, however, that the current problem had her so confused that she couldn't even comprehend what it was asking her to do at all-

"Do you by any chance need some assistance?"

Nanao looked up and found Oshitari peering across the table at her open textbook and notes. After a moment's pause, she nodded vigorously, and Oshitari laughed again, quietly. Nanao decided that she quite enjoyed hearing his laugh.

"Here – I'll show you how to solve it."

* * *

Nanao was a girl who was used to do everything on her own.

In fact, until Atobe Keigo had come along, she'd never had a tutor for a single subject, nor had she ever asked a fellow student to clarify things she didn't understand, either. Nanao was the type of girl who preferred to attempt to solve things on her own without really relying upon anyone; besides, it wasn't as though she needed constant assistance on her academics-

-well, except Greek, but that subject was the exception to every rule when it came to Nanao.

But when Keigo had entered her life with his dramatic flair and over-the-top involvement in every aspect of her days, she'd grown frighteningly used to his help. It was hard, nowadays, to muster up the same determination she'd always had before when figuring out a particularly hard problem on her own.

Still, though – this felt nice, Nanao almost smiled to herself, as she watched Oshitari's hand write neat numbers across her page. Ah, he had such elegant handwriting, too.

Every once in a while, her eyes would flicker up to his face, almost entranced by the attractive features he found there. She always looked away before he had a chance to catch her staring, though, because _that_ would be embarrassing.

And Oshitari-kun was such a good tutor, too – his knowledge on all the concepts was second to none, really, and he had a great ability to break it down into easier ideas and steps for her to follow along.

With Keigo, he'd only ever rolled his eyes at her and sniffed "I simply cannot fathom why this question is so hard, commoner."

Of course, he'd always pick up the pencil anyways and show her how to do it, but Oshitari's impossibly gentle teaching was so much nicer. Especially because it was _Oshitari._

"…and that's when you carry this variable over onto this side-"

Nanao snapped back to attention.

* * *

"If you wanted to help her so bad, I don't understand why you couldn't have simply helped her yourself."

Atobe looked up from his novel in his position draped across his couch. Incredulity lit his eyes, and Oshitari wanted to roll his own – he could _smell_ the beginnings of denial from across the room, already. And true to his expectations, Atobe protested: "I don't want to_ help her_," he protested, an almost affronted tone seeping into his words.

Oshitari raised a brow.

Atobe sniffed.

"I merely mentioned in passing that perhaps she needed some assistance with the math test tomorrow, Yuushi," Atobe insisted. A moment's pause, then: "I don't want to help her."

Right. _Right._

During after school practice that same day, Atobe had waltzed up to Oshitari thirty minutes into the session, an all-too feigned look of nonchalance in his gaze. "The math test is tomorrow," he murmured coolly, and gazed upon his perfectly manicured hand.

Oshitari had hummed in response, eyes still absorbed in his textbook.

"I think I saw Nanao in the library just now."

"Mm."

"She was studying."

"Doesn't she always?"

Oshitari had yet to look up from his book, but he had already begun to sense that there was more to this conversation than Keigo simply having a spontaneous desire to reiterate everything he'd seen that day to Oshitari.

"She looked like she needed help."

Oshitari's lips twitched once, imperceptibly. He kept his eyes on his book still, though he knew that Keigo was staring at him out of the corner of his eyes; Oshitari always liked to consciously deny Keigo when the other boy thought he was _subtly _implying for Oshitari to go do something.

What was the fun in that?

Instead, Oshitari liked to play ignorance, until Keigo finally gave up in exasperation and near-screamed his order at him.

"I'm sure she'll figure it out," Oshitari murmured, and flipped a page.

"I don't think she would – not alone."

"Pity."

Oshitari could feel Keigo's exasperation in the air.

"Maybe a _gentleman_ should help her."

Oh, how precious. Keigo really did need to work on his idea of what subtle was.

"I would, if I'd the time, Keigo dear. I've tennis practice, however, and afterwards I'd be much too tired to be of any academic assistance at all."

Finally, Atobe snapped, and half-flung the book from Oshitari's grasp onto the bleachers beside them. An irritated twitch had appeared upon his brow.

Oshitari looked up with innocent surprise. "What's the matter?"

Atobe almost growled at him.

"Just go."

Oshitari barely kept a smile at bay.

"But practice-"

"Just _go._ We don't need you here right now."

"Are you sure-"

"_Yuushi_, if you don't leave the courts right now, I'll forcibly drag you by your damned hair-"

"Going, going, dear."

Keigo had, in his own roundabout 'subtle' way, told Oshitari to skip the rest of practice to ensure that Suzuki-san knew the material well enough for tomorrow's test.

He often liked to pretend that he was the king in his own land of delusions, but Oshitari knew that Keigo always cared for his friends even when they weren't asking him for anything. He was the boy who would deliver notes of missed lectures and a personal maid to cook and look after his friends if they missed school due to illness. He remembered every birthday, anniversary and special date even better than he did historical facts, probably, and Oshitari was quite certain that if he were in serious trouble, the one person he could always count on to be there was none other than the diva himself.

And though they'd had the spectacular fight, Suzuki had already taken her place as a friend to Keigo.

Keigo always made sure his friends were looked after.

It was endearing, really, and the way that he tried to act as though he didn't care at all was even more adorable. Though if Oshitari ever used either of the words to describe him, Atobe was likely to throw a fit.

Oshitari leaned his head on his hand, and raised wry brows at Atobe.

Why be so stubborn if he was going to look after her, anyway?

"God, you're stupid."

Atobe, at the seemingly unprovoked insult, made an affronted noise in the back of his throat.

Oshitari laughed.

* * *

"Even thinking about it pisses me off – who the fuck was she, anyway? Annoying bint; we ought to have jumped her, or something."

"Dude, I think I've seen her around the courts; she was Atobe's girlfriend, I think."

"Shit, what?"

"Do you think she told him about what happened?"

"I don't know- shit. Would she?"

"Wouldn't he have already booted us if he found out about what she said?"

The two boys from the library discussed things – a bit too loudly for such a private conversation – in the boys' locker rooms. One leaned against the row of lockers, and the other sat in front of him, hands clasped, on the bench.

"I didn't even know Atobe had a girlfriend. And, god, she's _such_ a queer little _bitch._"

"Yeah. He made that big announcement, remember?"

A snort. "What a pompous ass."

"Very pompous." A new voice joined the conversation, and the two boys jumped. Heads swiveled, eyes fearful, towards the source – and the two's hearts plummeted simultaneously.

The light glinted off the pair of glasses. "Keigo _is_ very arrogant, I agree," Oshitari carried on, cheerfully, casually. He leaned against the lockers, and when he opened his eyes, his deadly expression was anything _but_ casual.

The two shivered.

"Ah- Oshitari- how long have you-"

"We thought everyone else had gone-"

Oshitari smiled. "Oh, no. Keigo and I stay after practice to organize some matchups, you see."

A pause. Both boys freeze.

"_Atobe_-buchou?"

"Yes?"

Said person appeared gracefully behind Oshitari, usual smirk on his lips, a lethal glint to hardened blue eyes. "Ore-sama is here."

He _had_ been here, since the end of practice, with Oshitari, in the back of the locker rooms. They'd been quietly perusing necessary documents together, and when they'd heard the door opening for the two third-year players (Haruno Chiaki and Sakagi Ginta), they'd simply gone on with their reading silently. And, well, one couldn't blame them for overhearing the conversation that the Chiaki and Ginta had carried on on the assumption that the room was empty, could they?

And they'd heard quite some interesting things, indeed.

Oshitari could almost sense the fear in the air, laced sharply with pinpoints of anger, courtesy of the boy standing behind him.

Atobe was used to the so-called 'haters.' Oshitari _so_ detested that word, seemingly having been borne of pop culture and permeated throughout everyday social language – but Atobe used it strangely often, and it seemed perfectly fitting to label the two boys in front of them, now.

For all of Atobe's massive popularity, there had always been a small handful of those who simply hated Atobe for the sake of hating him. After all, nobody in the world was _universally loved_, and whether it be out of jealousy, or simply irrational distaste, there _were_ people who didn't like Atobe all too much. Most of them had the sense to keep quiet about it, though, and feigned to love him, anyway, in fear of his almighty fans.

Keigo had a way of making people love him – to the point where many would willingly risk their own selves to clear out those who didn't like him.

He never let himself be so much as ruffled by those who didn't like him, as far as Oshitari had seen.

Ah, but.

They'd mentioned Keigo's '_girlfriend_,' and Keigo didn't play well with those who bullied his friends.

Oshitari didn't care quite as much, but because Keigo did, he did, too.

Keigo tilted his head to the side, nose slightly upturned, eyes shining _dangerously_ and looking fearsome at such an angle. "Talk."

The tone of his voice left no room for discussion – at all.

"We- we're sorry, buchou, we didn't mean that you were pompous, we just-"

Atobe rolled his eyes, and a sneer decorated his lips – Oshitari's glance flickered his way. Ah, he hadn't seen that one in a while.

"Ore-sama wasn't talking about that, commoners."

Haruno and Sakagi froze, eyes wide, fright pooling in their depths – alongside confusion.

"What happened with Nanao?" It didn't even sound like a question, really, with the unmistakable dredges of a command in the way Keigo spoke the words.

* * *

"Did Ore-sama ask for a _summary_, or did Ore-sama demand a _verbatim_ transcript of the conversation?"

Oshitari watched with delighted amusement as the two boys squirmed with horror. They'd been in the locker rooms for nearly an hour, now – and approximately thirty minutes ago, Atobe had made one disconcerting call on his phone; presently, _all_ the regulars had assembled, haphazardly fixed throughout the area.

Gakuto lounged in a strange, leg-over-shoulder position on the bench. He always sat like that, really, but Haruno and Sakagi didn't know that, and their horrified expressions at Gakuto's threatening leer from such a position made Oshitari tremble as he kept back the laughter.

Choutarou seemed to be trying his best to look scary but failed miserably; every few minutes, he'd turn his back to the two third-years to be able to undo the heavy frown he'd kept on his features. His face _hurt_ from being scrunched into such an unfamiliar expression for so long, and he massaged his cheeks tenderly.

Shishido didn't really have to do anything at all, given his naturally intimidating appearance that came in quite handy, now.

Kabaji, well- Kabaji was the walking nightmare of Hyotei to anyone who didn't know him well enough to realize that he was just a softie. And nobody dared to get to know him well. (Present regulars excluded).

Jiroh was asleep. Oshitari hadn't expected much of the boy, anyway.

Oshitari found that he had quite an effect on the two boys even when he simply _smiled_, much to his delight. Atobe did mutter something about uncanny smiles and creepy geniuses, but Oshitari felt that he didn't have a right to criticize anyone for being scary at the moment, given that _he_ was the orchestrator of this frightfest to begin with.

Hiyoshi stood directly in front of the third years, racket drawn close to his head, arm outstretched, one leg raised in his traditional martial arts position. "_Gekokujo-"_

Haruno and Sakagi let out noises from their throats that were suspiciously close to shrieks. Before the youngest member had a chance to launch another ball at the captives, Haruno stammered out: "W-W-Wait. I think- I think I've got it-"

Atobe sighed laboriously, allowing it to draw out to a lengthy breath – as though this were all terribly tiring for him. "This will be your _twelfth_ attempt to get it _perfect_," he murmured.

Indeed. The two boys could hardly feel their stomachs, with all the tennis balls they'd taken-

"O-Okay. S-So, we came over to the table, and sat down, and-"

* * *

"You were taking too long, so I've come to fetch you – you turtle."

Nanao's eyes lifted, widened, at the drawl; when her eyes confirmed that it was indeed _Atobe_ standing in front of her, her jaw promptly dropped.

"I understand the sheer awe you are feeling in my presence at the moment – but do try to keep your mouth closed. One wouldn't want flies swarming into your mouth."

Nanao continued to stare dumbly.

Atobe arched a brow. "Well? We've a project to work on, if you've forgotten."

Nanao's lips closed and parted, as she attempted to draw up words to say. She failed. Miserably.

Atobe let out a long-suffering sigh. He bent down slightly to pull Nanao up by the arm from her seat at the school's library; with his other, he picked up her book bag and slung it over one shoulder. "Ore-sama grows old waiting for you to catch up mentally."

And _finally_, Nanao seemed to jolt onto the fact that Keigo was here, speaking to her, as though nothing were wrong at all. For a split moment, she considers growing angry over this – that he didn't apologize, but simply acts as though nothing has happened at all.

But then, Nanao caught the small edges of a smile on Atobe's lips, and couldn't help her own expression from morphing into a bright smile as she beamed back.

She guesses that she doesn't need an apology from Atobe, not really. After all, she didn't want to apologize, either, and she was okay if he was okay.

Keigo slings a comfortable, familiar arm across her shoulders. Nanao drapes her own arm around his shoulders, too, though it makes her uncomfortable because his shoulders are so broad, and he is so much taller than she is.

Atobe almost snorts a laugh because nothing ever escapes his notice, and he's noticed her awkward gait since having to tiptoe to reach his shoulders, and Nanao pinches Atobe's side lightly.

They walk in silence for a moment, before Nanao feels Keigo squeeze her shoulder softly, once.

Nanao smiles.

They were okay.

* * *

"…_"_

_Silence reigned for a while in the locker rooms. And then, Atobe motioned with a careless wave of his hand. Kabaji fell forward to nudge Haruno and Sakagi towards the door once; the two need no further encouragement, and scrambled over one another in order to escape the hell they'd somehow entered._

_More silence._

_Oshitari glanced at Keigo. His lips twitched as he felt the overwhelming urge to lean over and say "I said so," but he knew that Keigo would probably slap him if he did so, so he remained perfectly quiet, too. _

_The silence was finally broken by Shishido, who grunts a "Who'd have known that she had some guts, after all?"_

_Gakuto laughed._

_Shishido gave him an odd look at his ability to even shift slightly in the position that he was in._

"…_That idiot," Oshitari heard Atobe finally say, quietly, to himself._

_But Oshitari catches the small twitch in Atobe's own lips, before he breaks out into the smallest of fond smiles._

"_Are you two still going to be children about this?" Oshitari dared to ask-_

_-and was promptly rewarded by a fierce glare._

"Ore-sama _was not being a child-"_

"_Yes, dear."_

"_Fuck you, Yuushi."_

"_Oh my. Really, so soon? And you haven't even taken me to dinner yet, darling-"_

"_Kindly go to hell."_

"_Only if you'll be there with me, my dearest."_

"_You'll be in a deeper level of hell than me."_

_Oshitari laughed. "But you'll be in hell, too?"_

_A dry look from Atobe. "We're all damned to a special hell after his life - no sense in pretending otherwise."_

_Oshitari laughed even louder._

* * *

Atobe lay upon his favorite sofa, sunken into the red cushions and a novel in one hand - an actual piece of literature, mind you, not the pointless trash that Yuushi so enjoyed. Said person was seated on the carpeted floor across the tea table from him, beside a quietly laughing Nanao; the three were, as usual, in their haunt in the Atobe library.

Atobe looked up, curiosity piqued by the strange giggles Nanao seemed to be experiencing.

What he found caught his interest long enough for him to lay the book gently down on his chest. His attention now flew to Nanao and Oshitari. Oshitari murmured one of his natural witty quips, and Nanao laughed, eyes bright and lips upturned into a pretty smile. Atobe felt the beginnings of a smile lift onto his own lips as he arched a sly brow.

Oh?

What was this?

Something clicked in his mind, mirrored by the gleam of recognition in Atobe's eyes as he continued to watch _only_ Nanao, now.

After several more minutes of laughing and blushing and delight-filled eyes, Atobe sat up slightly. "Yuushi."

Oshitari and Nanao both looked up at Atobe.

"I do believe that you left your phone in the foyer."

Oshitari paused. Both his and Atobe's eyes flitted to Oshitari's phone lying upon the coffee table in front of them. "...Keigo," Oshitari raised a brow.

Atobe raised his in reply. "I believe that I hear your phone _ringing_ in the foyer."

A smile played on Oshitari's lips.

"Is that so?"

Atobe mirrored Oshitari's amused smile. "Yes. Perhaps you should go answer it - it sounds like a call that would take approximately ten minutes."

Oshitari almost laughed out loud.

Again, with Keigo's charming subtlety. "Yes, I do believe I hear it too."

Atobe smirked. "Run along, Yuushi."

"I'll be back in ten minutes."

Oshitari excused himself from the room, then, and Atobe decided that Oshitari was a decidedly charming character, when he wanted to be. He did so appreciate a person who could take a hint and excuse themselves for a few minutes at a time when he hinted that he wanted some privacy with the third party.

Now that he'd sent Oshitari off, Atobe turned to send a sly smile towards Nanao.

Nanao stared back, both brows raised.

"So."

Nanao fidgeted.

"Yuushi's a handsome boy, isn't he?"

Nanao choked. She hadn't been drinking anything. Atobe gazed smugly upon his nails, pretending nonchalance - fuck what Yuushi said, because he was a _master_ at acting and subtlety.

A light that Nanao found far from comforting gleamed from Atobe's eyes as his lips widened into a smile. "Care to share anything with me?"

Nanao flushed a bright red, and suddenly found her teacup terribly interesting. "No, not really," she mumbled.

"Nanao."

She refused to meet his eyes.

"_Nanao._"

"Look up, you commoner."

At that, Nanao let out a cross between a whine and a groan and raised her eyes to look up at Keigo. "Can't you just let this go," she huffed.

Atobe's smirk widened. "Nanao."

And then, Nanao snapped. "Okay, fine!" she threw her hands in the air, before dropping them unceremoniously back into her lap. "Yes. _Yes._ I might think that Oshitari-kun is attractive."

"Nanao."

Nanao, if possible, grew redder. "And- And I might like him."

Atobe laughed, delight coloring his laugh, amusement shimmering in his eyes as he shifted so he could fully stare at Nanao. "You are in _such_ deep shit," he laughed.

Nanao, irate, tossed a stray eraser at him. It missed, and Atobe's laughs grew louder, harder.

"Shut up."

"Is that any way to talk to someone who was going to offer up his divine help?"

At that, Nanao froze. She turned wide, disbelieving eyes his way. "You're not serious."

Atobe sniffed. "Why not?"

Nanao paused. "Because. You're you."

Atobe's brow twitched. "Excuse you-"

Nanao's answering laugh entered his ear. "I'm kidding - you're a wonderful person, Keigo-kun."

"Yes, I am. And because I am so wonderful and self-sacrificing, Ore-sama will lend his magnanimous hand in your love ventures to secure Yuushi's affections."

Nanao straightened up to stare, surprised, at Keigo - until the door opened to reveal that Oshitari had returned. "I've returned," he announced, loudly - as if to signal that he was back, and to let Atobe know to stop talking about whatever private discussion he'd held when he'd sent Oshitari away.

Atobe almost sniggered. Right - Yuushi could criticize _him_ about being subtle.

"Phone calls. Terrible inconveniences," Oshitari flashed a casual smile at Nanao.

Atobe sniffed.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you realized what I did with the repertoire between Oshitari and Atobe at the end, there. Hehe. *snicker* They're terribly charming and smug and subtle, aren't they? LOL.

(For those of you who didn't get it: Atobe and Oshitari both know that Oshitari didn't leave his phone in the other room, and that it's sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Atobe, though, wanted to share a private word with Nanao, so he makes up that Oshitari's phone is ringing in the other room, and Oshitari knows that Atobe's doing it to get rid of him - and Atobe knows that Oshitari knows that he's doing it to get rid of him. Oshitari goes along with it anyway. HEHE.)

* * *

READ. REVIEW. LOVE.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Alright, you all! Here's the next story – I'll be replying to the reviews you sent me soon, so check your inboxes, and thank you all for reviewing, again. Please tell me what you think of this chapter, too!

And _please_ read the little footnote at the end of the story, too. 8D

* * *

Nanao wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up in this mess.

She tried to trace it back to when it all began, but it was hard – all she could think of, was how she'd ended up _here_, covered in flour from head to toe, wearing a ridiculous red satin ball gown, black lines scrawled haphazardly about her face and skin powdered until she looked like the flour covering her person, presently.

The only explanation she could come up with, after three minutes of silent thinking, was thus: _Atobe bleeding Keigo._

* * *

**TWO WEEKS AGO.**

"Chin up. _Up._"

Nanao lifted her chin, curious eyes flitting to Atobe and back straight forward hurriedly when he narrowed his eyes at her.

"Steady- commoner, I said _steady._ Were you raised by _animals_?"

Nanao's brows furrowed.

As she did so, the slight movement caused the two textbooks resting precariously atop her head to tremble.

"Those books are turn of the century antiques – drop them, and I will have you _exterminated._"

Nanao wanted to ask why on earth he'd _use_ such valuable artifacts for this kind of thing, in the first place. Nevertheless, her heart's pace quickened in nervousness.

"Now. Take the step forward."

Carefully, slowly, Nanao slid one step forward.

"What are you, a cow in interpretive dance? Why are you walking so slow? He's going to think you're a handicap if you walk like that."

Nanao's brow twitched.

"Well if I didn't have _turn of the century antiques_ sitting on my head, I'd walk faster," she mumbled, only to snap her lips shut at the unsavory gleam in Atobe's eyes.

"Sorry," she said instead.

"Now. One more step." _Slap._ Atobe brought the thin, slender stick down to slap against his palm almost threateningly.

Nanao obeyed-

Well. She'd taken the step…she'd just also happened to drop the two books from her head, as well as the trays she'd been balancing in each hand – each of which had been balancing five glass cups full of water in them.

The large, dusty book volumes were strewn haphazardly along the carpeted floor, having fallen open to random, bent pages. The water cups, needless to say, had all spilled into enormous puddles in the carpet – thankfully, however, the soft flooring hadn't shattered the cups.

Atobe did not share her relief that the cups were not broken.

He was far too busy staring at her with a mixture of disdain, contempt, and exasperation.

"Really, Nanao, you've the grace of a waddling _duckling._"

Nanao stared at him through reproachful, pouting eyes, lips jutting out in dismay. Atobe sighed dramatically – as if he'd just been told that the weight of the entire galaxy rested upon his divine greatness. "Even _I_ cannot perform miracles – as surprising as that may be."

Nanao resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Clean this up. We will start walking lessons anew in an hour, once I've refreshed and regained my energy."

Why, Nanao wanted to ask, did _he_ have to 'regain his energy,' when all he'd done for the past hour was poke and prod at her posture with a flimsy little stick? And _why_ was she being forced to clean this up when he had a full _staff household_ on call?

Atobe delivered one last poignant glance to her, and with a sigh, Nanao knelt to pick up the books.

* * *

**TWO WEEKS AND THREE DAYS AGO**

Nanao wasn't sure how she'd come to like Oshitari Yuushi, to begin with. But then, thinking back on the fact that he already had legions of fangirls at school, she supposed that it wasn't a surprise that she, too, had come to like him – he was always gentle, always kind, and so very eloquent and charming that it was hard _not_ to like him.

Still.

That didn't very well explain the fact how she'd come to turn to _Atobe Keigo_, her current_ fake boyfriend_, for help.

This situation and that sentence alone had so many things wrong with it that it was hard to even begin.

But then, as outrageous as it was to ask Atobe for help, Nanao knew that receiving his help was still hundreds of times better than nothing at all.

"Ore-sama shall teach you the ways into Yuushi's heart," Atobe declared now, dressed in one of his ostentatious silken purple shirts and black slacks. In the back of her mind, Nanao wondered why he insisted upon dressing himself so uncomfortably even within his own home.

"You are aware, Nanao, that as of now, you are severely lacking in the areas that Yuushi finds attractive."

Nanao blanched. She hadn't, but now she did.

"You need poise. Elegance. _Eloquence._" Atobe paused. "Ore-sama, of course, is a master in all these categories."

"…Are _you_ going to seduce Oshitari-kun, too?" Nanao couldn't help but to ask, and bit her lower lip to hide a smile when Atobe spluttered.

"Lessons begin on Wednesday," he snapped, and Nanao laughed.

* * *

If he were to be perfectly honest, Atobe supposed that he could acquiesce: _yes_, he did take Nanao under his wing out of a factor of _sheer boredom._ When one was as devastatingly handsome as he was – endlessly popular, fabulously wealthy – the drab world tended to turn _mundane_ every once in a while. The fact that Nanao had a crush on Oshitari was a newfound, ridiculously humorous idea to him.

And he supposed that Nanao wouldn't be such a bad girlfriend for Oshitari.

Believe it or not, Atobe did think that she was quite a decent specimen.

She wasn't anything _special_, per say, however he looked at it. Her excellent grades were solely a product of her strenuous effort, and she was about as pretty as every other girl; her redeeming quality, instead, was that she was _genuine._ Everything about her was so boldly honest, that Atobe often found himself chagrined in her presence.

She didn't have an ounce of pretense on her body, nor did she ever waste her time with airs or images. No – as rare as it was for someone of their social standing, Nanao was always, always straightforward, and honest, and real.

He appreciated it.

It had been a while since he'd met someone so wholeheartedly honest at all; the world that Atobe had grown up in, was used to, was far more concerned with keeping up appearances to hardly ever be honest about even the smallest of things. It was for this reason precisely that despite his outrageous popularity, he'd only ever considered a small handful of his peers his actual friends.

And though he hadn't told her (perhaps he never would), it had meant a lot to him; the things she'd said, that day, in the library. Because those words had been genuine, he knew. Nobody had been around to hear her say such things about Atobe, and because it was so, she'd had nothing to gain from speaking up on his behalf. She'd had a lot to lose, certainly.

She'd said it, and done those things, for him.

So Atobe supposed that he ought to help her out, now that she'd found someone to like.

* * *

**ONE WEEK AGO.**

"Your fashion sense is dismal. You'll never seduce Yuushi with these." Presently, Atobe tugged lightly at a yellow cardigan sleeve, drawing it out and making a disgusted expression at the article. Nanao stood against the open door of her closet, once again, frowning in a dismayed pout.

_Atobe_ was the one wearing a peacock-printed button up while standing in the middle of her closet; in her opinion, his fashion statement was far more outrageous than anything she owned. He was still wearing his _sunglasses_, for the love of-

"And Nanao. What _are_ you wearing?"

Nanao flushed.

It was a Sunday morning – and Nanao had taken the rare opportunity to sleep in. She hadn't expected Atobe would drop by, unannounced, at ten in the morning; nor had she expected the maid to just _let him in_, 'because he was the miss's boyfriend.' And how on earth her _maid_ had heard about their relationship (albeit, fake), was beyond her, either.

So Nanao had woken up that day, still dressed in her cotton, sheep-printed pajamas, to Atobe's high-browed, highly amused expression. She'd almost screamed. Almost.

"They're my pajamas," she protested – she was allowed to wear whatever she wanted to to sleep without being judged for it, wasn't she?

"Figures. You'd wear something dismal _even to sleep._"

Nanao's frown deepened.

"Come, Nanao. We shall revamp and renew your wardrobe." Atobe was already halfway out the door, when Nanao managed to stop him.

"What on earth is it _now_? You're wasting precious time." He tapped his feet impatiently upon the floor.

"…I'm still wearing my pajamas."

Atobe sighed loudly. "Well go on then, change. I just assumed you'd be alright with walking out like that, seeing as how the things in your closet aren't much better."

Nanao's frown had grown so large, her face ached. Nevertheless, she shuffled meekly into her closet anyway, and carefully avoided the yellow cardigan that Atobe had balked at. Five minutes later, she emerged in a clean-cut black dress and green cardigan.

Atobe balked anyway.

* * *

"…Keigo."

"Ah – _much_ better. Classy."

"…I really don't think this is-"

"Are you questioning my flawless knowledge, Nanao?"

"No, but I mean-"

"Good."

"But- I just-"

"Do be quiet. It's ruining the lovely dress."

"But I don't think this is really-"

"Terrible at following directions, you are."

Nanao fell silent, though with a stubborn edge to her lips, doubt flickering in her eyes. She glanced at herself in the boutique's mirror once more, and grimaced. A dress – at least, she _thought_ it was a dress – hung on her figure, then, and she stood awkwardly with her arms held out at her sides to better inspect the piece of clothing.

It was velvet – scratchy, uncomfortable velvet. A velvet, _Victorian era-styled_ dress, with a suffocating corset body, a frilled, widely-fanning skirt, and a multitude of laces and ribbons and frills that Nanao was sure that the dress could have done well without.

…Was this even something that people still manufactured?

"Yuushi likes the classical girl, Nanao. Not to worry – this will be perfect," Atobe murmured, with all the egoism and confidence in his voice, as normal.

Unfortunately, it did nothing to quell her worries.

But Atobe proceeded to place an order of _ten_ of similar dresses, and Nanao had to bite her tongue to avoid squeaking.

* * *

**FIVE DAYS AGO**

"…Keigo, are you quite sure about this-"

"Shush, Nanao. Allow me to paint the masterpiece."

"…But you've never even used makeup before-"

"Ore-sama can do _anything._"

"But I don't think-"

"Shh."

"…That's eyeliner, Keigo."

"…And?"

"…Why are you using it on my lips-"

"One must line the lips, no?"

"…Not with black eyeliner-"

"Shh."

* * *

**TWO HOURS AGO**

"Today marks the end of your two week lessons."

Nanao felt a sense of overwhelming gratification, and relief, that she'd been beginning to suspect would _never_ come. It was almost pathetic, how relieved she was that this was all over; the past two weeks had been a nightmare of aching limbs and lugging around cleaning supplies and spending her allowance on things that she doubted were manufactured in any realm within Japan.

Keigo was ridiculous. His lifestyle was ridiculous. His way of thinking was ridiculous. In fact, Nanao hardly understood anything he said, half the time – and she didn't understand how on earth dressing in this outrageous dress and learning to walk with her head straight was going to impress Oshitari-kun.

"A good lady also knows how to cook."

…What?

Nanao turned horrified, wide eyes upon Atobe, expression aghast. His smirk widened. That _bastard._

"I'm feeling a craving for something sweet – cake, perhaps?"

Nanao tried to find her voice.

"All the ingredients needed are here in this kitchen." Atobe snapped his fingers.

Nanao fumbled with her fingers. "But- but you have a five star chef-"

"My five star chef does not aim to seduce Yuushi, Nanao. You do."

"But I can't-"

"Cook? Better start learning now, then."

* * *

And that brought her full circle to today, right now.

She'd utterly failed in her attempt to cook a cake. Instead, whilst trying to retrieve the bag of flour from the top cupboard, she'd allowed it to slip through her fingers. It then fell flat on her head, exploded, and doused her in flour.

Thanks to Atobe's insistence that she continue to wear her dress while cooking (proper ladies could cook no matter what the dress, he said), she felt the flour beginning to seep in through odd curves of her outfit.

He'd also taken care to complete her 'makeup' once more today, so she could have the 'full look.'

So.

Atobe sat presently at the kitchen counter (one of the five kitchens in the Atobe estate), lips twitching and eyes practically _sparkling_ with hilarity and amusement. Nanao gave him a helpless, floundering expression, and within seconds, his shoulders were practically trembling with his silent laughter.

If anyone would have bothered to ask her, Nanao would have said that this all felt _brutally_ unfair – _he'd_ been the one to dress her like this, and to paint her face to look like a creepy china doll that belonged in a horror movie, and told her to _bake a bleeding cake._ Why was _he_ laughing at _her_?

And just then, the doors to the small kitchen opened to reveal: Oshitari Yuushi, holding a book in his hand, lips already parted to speak to Atobe.

But then, he caught a glimpse of her, and an amused gleam entered his expression, too.

"…What on earth are you wearing, Suzuki-san – and is that…horror cosplay?"

Nanao felt her life crumbling away before her eyes.

* * *

Nanao had never been so _mortified_ in her life.

Briefly, she decided that perhaps it was her fault – after all, one would blame the twenty-five year old adult for listening to the psychotic ideas of the five year old, and not pin the blame on the harmless five year old who had simply offered up a piece of his every-day, crazy mind. What on earth had compelled her to listen to Keigo, anyway?

Oh, right.

Desperation.

"Oh, it wasn't _that_ bad."

With a long-suffering sigh, Nanao raised her gaze to peer at Atobe – who sat at the small tea table in her room, a cup of Earl Grey in his hand, as though everything were perfect with the world. Which is probably was, in his version.

And again – Nanao still didn't understand why, even when she'd told the maids not to, they continued to allow Atobe to cruise on into their house, and into Nanao's room. It wasn't even _fair_, anymore, how the world would bend itself to his wishes all the time.

Atobe caught the appalled gaze Nanao was giving him, and sniffed. "Well, _I_ thought it was flawless couture. Yuushi simply didn't have the refined taste needed to appreciate it."

Nanao maintained her baleful glare from where she was sprawled across her bed, safely dressed in her perfectly normal pajamas. "He called it _horror cosplay_," she finally spoke, a wailing moan tinged with her words. "Horror. Cosplay."

At that point, Atobe couldn't help the cross between a snort and a laugh that flew up his throat.

Nanao shot him another look, and he gathered his expression solemnly – though not without the twitch to his lips that he couldn't contain.

Despite Nanao's apparent humiliation, Atobe found himself unable to forget the expression on Oshitari's face when he'd first seen her – _horror cosplay_, he called it, and Atobe felt a fresh wave of laughs threatening to spill from his lips. He pressed them together into a thin line; his gaze flickered to Nanao and back to his tea. If he laughed now, she'd surely pitch herself into an entirely new level of anger.

He allowed himself another glance at Nanao.

At the expression of genuine mortification still scrawled on her features, a flicker of remorse swept through his emotions. Well, to be perfectly honest, he _had_ only intended for the best – but seeing as how things had turned out, he supposed he'd have to right things, again. With a sigh, he crossed the room in quick, long strides, and seated himself with comfortable familiarity beside her.

Nanao peered at him sullenly through a curtain of her own hair. Atobe laughed, and tucked strands of wavy hair behind her ear, before rapping his knuckles lightly upon her forehead. Nanao's frown deepened.

"There's a party this weekend."

Well. There was a party _every_ weekend, given the financial state of affairs of Hyotei students – horribly rich teenagers, who lived in gargantuan mansions with minimal parent supervision: not exactly the most perfect conditions to raise well-behaved, prim members of society. Then again, Atobe supposed, it was what they were superbly talented with as a birthright – working hard, playing _harder_, all the while maintaining the guise of flawless class and perfection.

Nanao paused. "I know."

Atobe's brow curved.

Nanao sighed; sitting up, she tucked another loose strand of her hair behind a pale ear. "I _do_ get invited to the parties too, you know."

Nanao wasn't the most 'popular' girl at Hyotei – but she was certainly well-known, in her own right, after having spent both junior high and subsequent high school years with the same peers, as well as maintaining student council positions throughout most of said years. So she did tend to get included on the guest list for most of the parties that the frivolous students of Hyotei threw; she just didn't _attend_ them, given her penchant for sticking to the rules a little more than normal.

Atobe's lips curved into a smirk, then, a knowing gleam in his eyes. Nanao flushed.

"I just- I don't go, a lot."

Atobe leered at her _just so_, and Nanao crumbled. "Okay. So I don't go, ever."

Atobe broke out in laughs. Nanao smiled wryly. "I just don't really like parties."

"Neither do I."

Nanao turned surprised eyes on him, and he sniffed. "I grace the parties with my fabulous presence every once in a while, just to remind the commoners how brilliant I am."

After all, it was only good form to show one's self at least occasionally, to always keep one's presence in the minds of others.

Nanao's lips quirked into a smile for the first time in the past hour, and Atobe's lips twitched in response. "Yuushi will be attending with me. You should go, too."

Nanao paused, lips parted as she mulled over the idea.

Before she could reach a decision, though, Atobe had already swept himself forward to the doorway. He paused only momentarily to send her a _look_ – the one that she received quite often, the one that spoke volumes of _just listen to me, or else._

Nanao sighed.

* * *

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, Nanao had, quite honestly, forgotten all about the party in its entirety. After all, the same week had delivered with it an ample amount of tests and small project deadlines, and Nanao had buried herself in planning calendars and outlines and reports and notes. Atobe, she noted – torn between exasperation and resignation – hardly lifted a finger that entire week.

He still scored higher than herself on most of the assignments.

Damn him and his 'natural prowess.' There was something highly wrong with a world that granted one person so much natural advantage, in Nanao's opinion, and she'd said so, once – Oshitari and Atobe had laughed at her, and she'd frowned deeply.

But what else was new?

She spent the days scrambling for tests, desperately asking Atobe for help, and more often than not, receiving it from Oshitari instead – a situation created by Atobe's seemingly endless list of crafty lies. "Ore-sama desires authentic Greek yogurt, and he is off to hire a native chef – Yuushi, help this child so that she doesn't fail more than absolutely necessary," or "Ore-sama has plans to oversee construction – I've been repainting the bathroom walls in solid gold. Yuushi, look over her math."

In between studying and flushing in happiness whenever Oshitari-kun helped her, Nanao was busy being Atobe's errand girl, as usual. These days, Atobe had developed a new fondness for _kingly_ dialect – such as referring to himself in the _plural form_ of 'we,' in addition to his usual 'medieval' vocabulary. Nanao adapted to it smoothly, and the two preferred to ignore the twitching brow of Oshitari as he attempted to come to terms with Atobe's growing narcissistic speech.

Nanao didn't mind, not really. Atobe would be Atobe, and she'd simply follow along, as usual.

So when Nanao returned home from school on Saturday, and saw a slim, white box with a satin blue bow on her bed, she'd absolutely no idea how it'd gotten there, to begin with. But then, a passing maid noticed her and the box, and gave Nanao the most excruciatingly painful smile, full of nudges and winks and giggles.

Nanao frowned.

And then, she noticed the small card attached – outlined in glittering gold lines, with elegant cursive written in the center: Atobe's telltale handwriting.

_I've gone to the liberty of selecting a dress for you to wear today; I dare not leave you to your own judgment to wear something of _your_ horrendous taste._

_PS. Don't worry. This time, I assure you that this dress will stun Oshitari._

_PPS. Of course, I've had to downplay my knowledge of haute couture, seeing as how neither you nor Oshitari have the refined taste necessary to appreciate Ore-sama's fashion in all its beauty._

Nanao's lips fluttered into a smile of its own accord, amusement already worming its way into her entertainment. Atobe always had a strange way of making her laugh, whether or not he'd intended it.

Tentatively, Nanao tugged on the ribbon; it loosened and unraveled in one fell movement. For a moment, Nanao considered _not_ wearing the dress – or even not attending the party at all. But then, she realized that if she didn't show up, Keigo would be most displeased at her 'disobedience' – and if she did show up, but not in the clothes he'd picked, he'd commit _bloody murder_, flourished with indignant squawks and huffs.

The image of the Victorian dress flickered through her mind, and Nanao's stomach twisted uncomfortably.

Carefully, she opened the box, lower lip bitten-

-the lid fell from her hands in surprise.

Quietly, she grasped the fabric gently, and held it up at arm's length. She gazed at the dress through wide, flickering eyes, lips slightly parted to reveal her tongue, lightly tracing her upper lip in contemplation.

Ah.

Well.

It was a long-sleeved, form-fitting black dress, that would, Nanao noted, end at a length of mid-thigh. Certainly, rather short in comparison to her usual style – but then, Keigo _had_ mercilessly beaten down upon what she usually wore, so…

While the neckline was high, the entire back of the dress dipped low; the shoulders, and subsequent backing, was glittering with pearls and small, glittering stones, in a tasteful splatter of elegant charm. **(1)**

Nanao stared for a moment longer.

The parties that Hyotei students threw were a strange mixture of glamour, class, and a gritty nightclub vibe – it was an effortless mesh of features that normally would have stood upon opposite ends of the spectrum, but easily brought together to create an atmosphere far surpassing that of normal high school raves and parties. And though Nanao had only been to, at most, three parties in all her years with Hyotei peers, she'd still known that the dress code was akin to that of a club.

She hadn't known, however, that it was possible for a cocktail dress to appear so _elegant_ and classy all at once.

Apparently, it was – and Atobe Keigo knew it, too.

…It would seem that she couldn't skip out on the party, now.

* * *

Nanao was the kind of girl who, in her previous experiences at Hyotei parties, had gone relatively unnoticed. The few people who weren't either too hammered or too busy having fun to notice her gave her fleeting, smiling greetings, and moved on with whatever next caught their interest at the party. She'd then proceed to find her friends – or acquaintances – at the party, and spend her time with them, rather than to go amok being a 'social butterfly.'

Apparently, being Atobe Keigo's girlfriend meant that going 'unnoticed' was subject to the same likelihood of being able to pass through airport security armed with rifles and shotguns.

It just didn't happen.

The party – this time, set up at a recluse 'guest house' in a third year's sprawling 'back yard' (and guest house was more like _miniature mansion_, and back yard was more like _miniature golf course_) – had already been in full swing for a good hour or two by the time Nanao had arrived. Even while walking up to the doorway, she could hear the telltale deep bass and pounding beats of whatever house music played inside; from the windows, she could catch a glimpse of pulsating, flickering lights of bright, changing colors, and a sprinkle of white fairy lights strung on the walls.

Outside the house, couples and friends loitered all around, usually holding a cigarette, or a red plastic cup – no doubt holding alcohol in its contents.

Everyone paused when she stepped inside, and for a small, delirious moment, Nanao could swear that the raucous noise had fluttered quiet. Subconsciously, her hand inched down to pull her skirt down a little lower. Not that it helped, much.

Several seconds later, everyone seemed to resume their former activity – just in time for a boy to bounce up to her, a welcoming smile on his lips, eyes wide and glittering. "Hello, Suzuki-san! Glad you could make it," he chirped, and Nanao offered the best smile she could muster.

"Atobe-sama arrived a little while ago – here, I'll bring you to him."

And before she could say anything, her arm was already being tugged forward, through the crowd.

All the while, she could see blurs of faces whisking past her, many of which sent her greetings and flutters of giggles.

* * *

"You look bored."

Atobe spared Oshitari a passing glance through flat eyes, and wrinkled his nose upon finding the other boy in possession of one of the uniform red plastic cups that most people held in the house. He and Oshitari were currently seated in a corner of the house, upon a plush, red velvet couch; a small group of their peers fluttered around, occasionally working up enough courage to speak to them.

Once in a while, Atobe would humor them, and girls would burst into delighted laughs and the boys would nod along vigorously.

Oshitari watched it all with amusement in his eyes and laughter along his silent, curved lips.

Considering that the people who dared to approach Atobe at all were the most popular students at Hyotei, Atobe's ability to reduce them into a mass of nervous, over-eager to please idiots was still impressive, after all these years.

Then again – it was Atobe.

"Ore-sama _is_ rather unamused – and Yuushi, those things are _unsanitary._ And the quality of alcohol here is terrible."

Just then, the huddle of people surrounding the sofa parted slightly – revealing a boy, pulling along a girl, who clattered on awkwardly upon her heels.

Atobe dragged a flickered glance-

-and paused.

He spent several seconds flicking his eyes up and down, tracing the curve of her figure, and following the beads of her dress. Nanao stood in front of him presently, fingers still pulling slightly at the hem of her dress, a small smile attempted on her lips; and this time, makeup had been done _correctly_ on her features, highlighting shimmering eyelids and rosy cheeks and lips.

Atobe's lips quirked into a smirk.

"Not bad," he drawled – and when Nanao's wide eyes rose to meet his, he nudged surreptitiously at her dress, and winked.

Nanao's lips broke out into a genuine smile, then.

Atobe tilted his head slightly to his side – in between himself and Oshitari – and Nanao moved obediently forward, and sat herself down.

Atobe leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in her ear: _"See? That dress is simply stunning – Ore-sama has outdone himself this time, hasn't he?_"

Nanao laughed.

Atobe leaned in again: _"I think Yuushi's quite noticed you this time, Nanao."_

At that, Nanao flushed slightly red, and though she tried to purse her lips, Atobe could still see the telltale delight in her expression. His smirk broadened, and he rapped his forehead against hers, lightly. "You're stupid," he rolled his eyes, and Nanao's smile didn't diminish even in the slightest.

And all around them, none the wiser, their peers glanced longingly at the way Atobe showered his 'affection' upon Nanao.

* * *

The seniors, juniors and – a few freshmen – who'd been present at the party would later comment on Suzuki Nanao's appearance, citing it as the most interesting thing that night, given the usually uniform state of affairs at their parties.

Girls would then believe that dating Atobe Keigo had the magical properties of making a girl _prettier –_ because most could agree that that night, Suzuki Nanao's dress had been a piece to speak of for days to come. Likewise, the girl who was usually seen without makeup, and decently pretty without it, had shown up with glitter on her eyes and pink on her lips, looking polished and actually _attractive_.

Suzuki Nanao, people would say, was a rather plain girl, relative to the rest of Hyotei's unnaturally beautiful student body. However, that night, when she sat beside Atobe Keigo, laughter spilling from her lips and shimmering from her eyes, many people found, to their surprise, that she was actually _pretty._

On her own, she wasn't very much more than a part of the wallpaper and a fleeting bit of the crowd; but when she was with _Atobe_, she seemed to shine a little brighter, look a little prettier, laugh a little louder and speak with a little more vivacity in her words.

It was nice.

* * *

Twenty minutes after her arrival, Atobe had 'excused' himself, declaring that he was off to spread the wonder that was his glorious self to the rest of the party – effectively leaving Oshitari and Nanao, alone. The last time he'd caught a glance of the two (which was well over an hour ago), Atobe had been pleased to note that they were sharing what seemed to be a pleasant conversation.

Now, he wore a grin like a cat that had caught a canary – smug, and terribly self-pleased. There was _nothing_ he couldn't do – even matchmaking.

Atobe stood against the bar **(2)**, one arm draped with a flourish over the marble surface; two girls, and one zealous boy, stood in front of him, chatting animatedly and enthralled to have captured the attention of Atobe Keigo, even momentarily.

The smirk on his lips dropped, however, when he noticed another figure in the crowd.

Without further ado, and without warning, Atobe brushed past the three in front of him, and walked on over to the boy sitting _awfully close_ to a girl, several chairs down at the bar.

"…Yuushi."

At that, the blue-haired boy looked up, and Atobe noticed that he'd been smiling broadly just before his arrival – a smile which was slowly slipping from his lips. Beside him, the girl he'd been speaking to looked up, too: smooth, polished hair in perfect waves, held in place with a jeweled clip, high cheekbones and cat-like eyes.

Shigohara Minako. **(3)**

"Hello, Atobe-kun. It's been a while, hasn't it?" she flashed him a smile, and Atobe was displeased to note that she was still pretty, after all these years.

"Yes, Keigo?" Oshitari replied, voice as smooth as ever – though Atobe knew him far too well to be fooled; he could hear the irritation in his friend's voice, at the interruption.

"I thought I'd left Nanao with you."

At that, Oshitari sighed. He flashed an apologetic smile and a "Excuse me for a moment, please," at the girl, and pulled Atobe a few paces away.

"Keigo. It's _Minako._"

"Yes," Atobe snapped in reply, "I'm well aware."

Shigohara Minako – what had been, in Atobe's opinion, a fucking _disaster_ that was better left in all their pasts.

She'd been the daughter of a prominent corporation's owner; during junior high, she and Oshitari had been placed, briefly, into an arranged marriage – one that Oshitari, like Atobe, had accepted with an easy breeze of his hands. Oshitari had honored it by going along with pretenses and courting the girl, all the way until due to conflicting interests of their parents' companies, the engagement had been called off.

But for several years after, Oshitari _never quite_ forgot about the girl, much to Atobe's chagrin. The other boy _claimed_ he only flirted with her 'for fun,' but Atobe was neither naïve nor dull, and he'd caught that unfamiliar glimmer in Oshitari's eyes whenever he saw her.

And this was _not_ okay – not when he needed to play bleeding Cupid for Nanao, who's current object of interest was Oshitari. And Atobe would _much_ prefer Nanao dating his best friend, than that girl, Minako.

Minako was a talented tennis player, and certifiably cut from the same mold he and Oshitari had come from: flawlessly poised, poignant, with all the grace and charm of one who was well-versed in the nuances of high society. She was also, Atobe felt with mild disdain, someone who had no qualms about replying to Oshitari's advances with amused laughter and silken wit, but one who would never quite give in, not really.

The idiot was being played. And he knew it, Atobe supposed, and he just didn't care.

Damn him.

"Did you just _leave_ Nanao alone, then?"

Oshitari shot Atobe a dry look. "Keigo. She's _seventeen_, not seven. And there seemed to be quite enough people eager to speak to her when I left- Keigo, it's _Minako._"

Atobe pursed his lips. "You. Shut up."

Oshitari gave him a brilliant, winning smile, before rushing back to entertain more conversation with Minako. Atobe gave him, and Minako, a frigid glare, to which they both responded with charming, lovely smiles.

He felt an involuntary shiver up his spine.

Those two, together, unsettled him. One conniving, sneaky bastard genius was enough – he didn't need a _pair_ of them, running around.

He then slipped into the party, in search of one painfully troublesome girl.

LINE BREAK

Atobe found her at last, half an hour later – holed up inside the small bathroom to the side of the main room. Outside, a few people had noticed him walking through the crowd, and had ushered him forward, telling him that his _girlfriend_ was currently emptying the contents of her stomach inside.

Atobe slipped carefully into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Just a few feet from his self, Nanao was currently sprawled haphazardly on the floor, knees bent at an awkward angle as she held onto the pristine rim of the toilet with whitened knuckles.

Atobe bit back a gag.

This _seriously_ was not happening to him right now.

Nevertheless, he stepped forward with a long-suffering sigh, and bent gracefully until he was squatting beside her – none of his body save his shoes touching the floor, thank you very much. Clean bathroom or no, he did _not_ touch the surface of _any_ floor with his self.

"You idiot," he murmured, and leaned his head against an elegant hand.

Only a moan responded.

"Why would you drink so much?"

At that point, Nanao finally pulled away from the toilet to look at him – and Atobe blanched. Tentatively, he reached forward to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, and Nanao's grimace remained stubbornly on her lips. "People just kept giving me _cups_, and I didn't want to _talk to them_, so I just kept busying my mouth by sipping at the cup, and they wouldn't stop giving me the cups, and-"

Nanao stopped her rambling abruptly by covering her mouth, and Atobe could swear he heard something unsavory from the back of her throat.

Nanao leaned forward over the toilet again, only to groan when vomit still failed to come out.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up. But I'm not. I just want to throw up."

Atobe laughed, and Nanao gave him a dark look.

"I feel sick."

"No, really?"

With another wail, Nanao finally leaned back away from the toilet, slumped pathetically on the floor. "I hate my life."

Atobe nudged at her forehead with his finger. "You hate your life? _I'm_ the one squatting on the bathroom floor most unceremoniously with you, even when _I'm_ not the one who breathed in cheap beer like there was no tomorrow."

Nanao's answering frown was so miserable that Atobe laughed again.

"He left. Like, ten minutes after you left. He said he saw an old friend – and he just… I don't know, ran off." Nanao murmured, plucking at the edge of her dress. "Maybe I'm just really boring," she sighed, and pursed the edge of her lips.

Atobe sobered. "Yuushi's terribly oblivious, sometimes."

Nanao offered a rueful smile. "Yeah, maybe."

And at that moment, his friend looked so overwhelmingly _pathetic, _and pitiful, and sad, that Atobe made a decision. "Fuck me," he breathed, quietly, before actually sitting down on the floor with a cringe as his bottom met the cool surface of the marble below.

He leaned forward and with an outstretched arm, draped it comfortingly over Nanao's shoulder. "It's okay," he murmured, and felt Nanao sigh.

"I really don't want people to see me like this," she groaned, and Atobe laughed.

"You're stupid."

"I know."

And just then, the bathroom door burst open – revealing a small crowd of people behind it, cluttered around, in an attempt to peek inside. The formerly dulled thump of the bass-heavy music now blast in at high volume, and they could hear snippets of conversation outside, with the underlying hum of the entire party behind it.

"Hey, it's Atobe-sama-"

"Look, they're hugging-"

"Atobe-sama! Where were you?"

"Atobe-sama and his girlfriend are here!"

"Hey, move, I want to see Atobe-sama-"

At that moment, Nanao had never been more sure of her desire to _die_ – seriously? They were so desperate to see him, that they followed him into the bleeding _bathroom_? What the hell was it with Atobe-

With another pained sigh, and the fleeting thought that he most certainly would have to _burn_ this shirt afterwards, Atobe pulled in until Nanao's face was buried in his chest – and safely hidden from the rest of the world, seemingly pushing at itself to get a glimpse into the bathroom.

"Ore-sama would like the door closed. Now."

In seconds, the door had pulled closed.

And though nobody else was around to see Nanao's current features – smudged makeup and unflattering skin and reddened eyes and nose – the two stayed like that for a while longer, with Atobe's hand raking gently through her hair. Nanao sniffled against his shirt.

"This sucks," she said, muffled by his shirt.

"Mm."

"And why are you so _stupidly popular_?"

Atobe laughed.

"…Thanks, Keigo."

Atobe rapped his knuckles against her skull.

"…Ow."

And then, they both laughed.

* * *

**A/N:**

**(1)** Here's a picture of Nanao's dress, if you wanted to see:

weheartit.c o m (FORWARD SLASH) entry (FORWARD SLASH) 70183494#

Get rid of all the spaces, and replace the words in parentheses with what's inside. 8D

**(2)** Shigohara Minako is an OC made by the lovely fyerigurl, in her _brilliant_ girls-tennis team fic, To Catch a Falling Star – please go check it out! 8D 8D She's seriously a fantastic writer, guys, and you won't regret reading her story.

**(3)** For those of you who are confused, a lot of houses do have bars in them – I remember a lot of parties I went to were in these nice houses with like a bar area built in.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Hey, all! Thanks again for all your lovely reviews and support on the last chapter. From now on, I'll just be replying to all the reviews in the next chapter in the A/N, right below (at the end of the chapter). 8D Not much to say, so without further ado…

**Disclaimer:** I do not own PoT.

**Dedication:** I'm just going to dedicate this chapter to Fyerigurl, who's TCAFS just makes me want to die of shame at my own writing sometimes. And her Shigohara, who I love, and I'm going to make the rest of you love it too, gdi.

* * *

The following week, Nanao hardly caught a glance of Atobe at all.

It was strange, really, to suddenly spend so much time apart. What had started out of a necessity to convince the rest of their peers that they were, indeed, dating, had developed into something of a habit and routine for Nanao. She was used to Atobe picking her up on half of the mornings, of him visiting her or she visiting him during breaks and lunches, of waiting for him after school during tennis practice, whilst she completed her own council duties or worked on homework.

He had grown to be such a constant – and expected – presence in her life, that this week proved sincerely bizarre.

Keigo was, apparently, ridiculously busy. He slept late and barely woke up in time to arrive at school, much less spend time to pick her up; during lunchtimes, he was always, always sleeping (by barging into the council room), or browsing some documents that Nanao couldn't understand when she managed to glance at them. He'd even taken to skipping tennis practice after school – something that was practically _unheard of._

Saturday after school, Nanao had worked up the curiosity and courage to inquire upon it to Oshitari-kun.

"This happens every year, around this time," he'd said, and Nanao's brow had quirked in question. "It's about time to start compiling quarterly fiscal reports for the company – and Keigo's father likes to see how well Keigo can do on it. Sort of like…a level test, I suppose. It has Keigo a bit frazzled, if you've noticed."

Yes, Nanao had noticed.

Of course, Keigo still arrived to school as impeccably dressed and flawlessly groomed as always – but there was always that harried gleam in his eye, that grim line upon his lips, regardless of how he brushed it off as nothing.

She frowned slightly, then, and Oshitari's knowing smile caught her expression.

"He needs a distraction, don't you think?" he murmured, suggestion laced secretively into his words.

Nanao paused, as if in thought.

Oshitari's smile widened.

* * *

By now, the Atobe household's staff had long since learned and familiarized themselves with Nanao's presence. So when she arrived at the doorstep that Friday night at 7, she'd been ushered in with a warm smile from an aging maid, and directed towards Keigo's room by a friendly butler. Nanao made sure to thank them properly with a small bow, before padding upstairs; the staff looked on fondly.

Nanao _was_ such a sweetheart – especially compared with the rest of Keigo-bocchama's eccentric friends.

Nanao knocked on the door quietly one, two, three times; she'd been absently rubbing at her slightly sore knuckles when the door swung inwardly open – revealing a slightly disheveled Keigo, still dressed in his school uniform, with the sleeves pushed up and buttons undone and tie gone. Nanao offered a hesitant smile, and for a few moments, he stared at her through blank eyes.

And then- "What are you doing here?" he asked, brows furrowing.

With another bright smile, Nanao ducked underneath his arm and slipped inside the room. Keigo's eyes followed her, slightly wide and incredulity brimming from their depths. "It's nice to see you too, Keigo," she murmured, and took a haphazard glance around. It was, as she'd expected, spotless as usual. From the doorway, Keigo leaned against the wall, lips pursed dryly and eyes flat.

A luxurious carpet of incredibly plush, rich red material swathed the floor beneath generous lighting from gleaming chandeliers; there were ornate carvings along the moldings, and ceiling-to-floor windows were concealed behind matching red velvet, hung loosely with golden trappings. An enormous four poster bed stood in the center of the (too) big room, elevated on a small platform; to the side, an elegant mahogany desk suffered underneath a flurry of papers.

"Done gawking?"

Keigo's all-too smug voice brought Nanao turning around, a slight flush on her cheeks. She hadn't meant to stare so much – it was just a bit hard, when constantly subjected to _so much wealth_ that it was enough to make someone gag.

"Why are you here?" Keigo repeated, this time, with a sharp quirk of his brow.

Nanao grappled for an answer. "I- I need help with Greek."

Not the best excuse she's come up with in a while. Nevertheless, it has Keigo's lips rising in a brief amused smirk, before a frown quickly overtook it. "I don't have time right now. I'm busy-"

Yes, Nanao wants to say, she's noticed – evidenced by the fact that he hasn't even had time to change out of his school uniform. But she can't say that, and she can't let him know why she's _really_ here. So instead, she tugged childishly on his sleeve instead, an apologetic smile on her lips. "Sorry, sorry – you know I'm really bad at it, and I could _really_ use some help-"

Keigo glances with a frown at the papers still on his desk. Nanao tugs again on his sleeve, and musters a most pathetic expression on her features. Keigo rolls his eyes and gives, because she is just so sad and pitiful, and Nanao bites her lip to keep the smile from overtaking her features.

* * *

Two hours later found them huddled around the small coffee table in Keigo's room, laughing quietly, secretively, as though it were something only the two of them knew, secret and special and just for their ears only. Bags of snacks – most of which Nanao had brought, and furtively pulled them out of her bag – littered the table, as did empty soda cans and bottles. At one point, Keigo had stared with mild apprehension at her small bag, because who knew so much could fit in such a tiny parcel?

They hadn't touched Greek at all.

Well they had, for the first ten minutes – whereupon Nanao had somehow managed to divert their attention away from the subject and onto highly irrelevant and completely trivial matters. How she did so without him noticing was beyond him, because she had all the subtleties of a rampaging elephant. Still, that didn't change the fact that her Greek textbook was currently buried under a mountain of snacks, and that they were currently knee-deep in laughing about something he couldn't even remember.

He had only just now noticed any of this at all. And when he did, he paused, and tilted his head to stare almost contemplatively at Nanao, who was still lost in peals of oblivious laughter.

He knew what she was doing.

Nanao wasn't the kind of person to go all the way to someone's house to ask for help with studying, then abandon the task ten minutes in. She wasn't the type to bring over snacks and drinks with the intention to study; and she _certainly_ wasn't the kind of person who would only bring along a single textbook to ask questions about a subject she wasn't good in.

She'd done this all on purpose – and planned it – from the start.

Keigo wanted to laugh, really, at how easily he'd fallen into her routine and gone along with it, to not have noticed for two entire hours. Since when had someone like _Nanao_ been able to pull him along?

He wanted to be irritated. He really, really did. He still had much paperwork left to review, numbers to crunch, reports to compile; he wouldn't have dared to waste two hours like this.

Still.

The ever-pounding ache in his head had cleared, and that irritating tug in his stomach – which had been hunger, he realized now – was gone, filled with greasy foods and fizzing soda.

A small curve lifted his lips into a small smile.

He leaned forward and rapped his knuckles on Nanao's forehead. She grimaced, before frowning. "What was that for?"

"Thanks."

Nanao paused, eyes wide. "…For what?"

Keigo laughed. "Just go home. It's late."

Nanao's frown deepened. "But I-"

"I command you to go, commoner. Have one of the drivers take you home – it's late."

And at _that_ tone, Nanao got up with a huff, because nobody ever got away with arguing with Keigo when he used that invasive pitch. She had already made it across the room to the doorway when he called out again.

"Your bag-"

Nanao hardly spared him a backwards glance. "Eat it," she said, right before closing the door behind her.

With a frown of his own, Keigo peered inside the bag – and promptly burst into laughter. The bag was still halfway full with an assortment of light snacks and food and drinks; just how much had she managed to fit inside here?

* * *

"Nanao."

Nanao peered up from a forkful of salad. She was seated at the family dinner table alongside her siblings, before their parents; hesitantly, she lowered the fork to clink quietly against the plate. Her sister smiled knowingly from beside her, as if she recognized what their mother was about to say.

"I just can't seem to escape talk of you and that Atobe boy, darling."

Nanao coughed slightly on her glass cup of water.

From across her, her brother snickered.

"I do think it's wonderful that you've finally gotten yourself a serious boyfriend – for a while, I was worried that you'd never get a boyfriend."

At this point, Nanao's cheeks have heated up to a cherry red, and her sister laughed aloud and poked her affectionately.

"And what if you never got married? What would you do with yourself then? I was so worried for your future for such a long time."

The blush slowly receded from her cheeks, leaving in its wake an unpleasantly pale pallor. This time, Nanao's lips drew together into a small line, and her eyes fell to stare uncomfortably at the salad. Her stomach clenched into a funny shape. Idly, her finger traced the lace along the table.

She could do plenty of things if she didn't get married, she wanted to say – like get a job, and become a careerwoman, and be successful. Without a husband. Without having to be taken care of. She could make something of herself-

-but then, her father's agreeable laughter rang out from across the table, and Nanao's stomach coiled just a little tighter.

* * *

Fingers clenched, barely perceivably, around a decorative pink pillow. Nanao's cheek sunk just a little bit more into the surface, and she leaned just a little bit more into her headboard – almost as though her body were instinctively curling away from the girl who sat at the other end of the bed.

With long blonde locks and pretty wide, dark eyes and expertly done makeup at all times, Rima – Nanao's childhood friend from grade school – was like a practical Barbie doll. She was dressed in an elaborate outfit, as usual, perfectly cinched together with a bright pink belt, and red lips moved at an unbelievable pace as words and other words spilled from her mouth.

"Nanao, you'll never get a boyfriend at that rate – seriously! Do you _want_ to be alone and single forever?"

Nanao attempted a smile. It looked more like a grimace.

She and Rima were old, old friends; their parents went years back, too, and as a result, the two girls had grown up together, despite the fact that they attended different junior high and high schools. They'd used to be really good friends – that is, until Rima reached puberty and grew pretty and gained an all-too large interest in boys and being pretty and more boys.

Nanao knew that Rima didn't mean to come off so…brutal, she supposed. But it was a bit hard, when Rima went off about how Nanao ought to stop being such a spoilsport, passive aggressively delivering well-concealed insults in the guise of giving advice. Nanao took it all in stride, though, and even managed to smile encouragingly when Rima came by to show off about her latest boyfriend or- whatever.

"-ah! Nana! Nana, Nana – let's meet up Saturday after school, okay? I'll let you meet Saito-kun then."

And when Rima smiled innocently at her – though Nanao _knew_ that the smile wasn't as innocent as it seemed, and that Rima always loved to show off her boyfriends to her – Nanao couldn't help but to smile back, and nod.

She _really_ didn't want Saturday to roll around.

* * *

Needless to say, by the time Monday rolled around, Nanao very much felt like the leftovers that life had eaten, chewed, and spit back out. Homeroom and second period had flown by, leaving Nanao with that awful feeling in her stomach that she'd done badly on the pop quiz in Greek (but what else was new); the fact that she had Rima's texts ringing her phone every other minute (didn't that girl ever pay attention in class) didn't help, nor did the fact that her parents' indulgent, dismissive words swam around in her thoughts every once in a while, help either.

Atobe, on the other hand, looked as though he'd won the billion yen lottery (because he already had millions, and that could hardly put a small dent in his fortune). As far as Nanao knew, he'd submitted the fiscal reports, and they'd been his best ones yet; even while taking the English quiz, he'd looked ridiculously happy, as if he were a cat who had finally caught the damned canary. He continued to grin smugly as the bell rang for break to begin-

-the grin faltered, though, when he glanced to the side and noticed Nanao bury her head in her arms atop her table with a quiet sigh.

With a long leg, he nudged her foot. "Why do you look as though someone killed your puppy?"

Nanao's muffled grumble filtered past the cloth of her sleeved arm.

Atobe nudged her foot again.

Slowly, she raised her head and leaned back in her seat. Nanao sighed before opening her composite notebook, already preparing for the following class; the pencil danced loosely in her hand across the white page. "It's nothing," she murmured, eyes focused blearily on her desk.

Atobe continued to stare. Nanao offered him an attempt at a smile, and Atobe wrinkled his nose at the pathetic line across her lips. Nanao's shoulders seemed to slump, then, and she returned her attention to her notebook.

He'd never seen her quite so down – not like this. Atobe had seen her mourn the occasional test score that fell below her standards, but those had always still been with the constant cheer Nanao seemed to carry with her. Today, though, it was almost as though someone had taken a pin to her skin and deflated it, until she were a listless, floating balloon. It was a ridiculously sad sight, really, and-

Atobe let out a sigh of his own.

At the sound, Oshitari's eyes peered upwards from where he sat on Atobe's other side. Atobe glanced at him, and Oshitari's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Take care of it," Atobe murmured vaguely to the other boy – who nodded in perfect understanding, smile growing.

"Come on, puppy. We don't have much time until the bell rings again." Atobe swept her desk, effectively gathering all her things into her leather bookbag.

With a yelp, Nanao stood up to avoid a clatter of pencils as they fell into her lap. Atobe rolled his eyes; who had five pencils out at a time? Ridiculous girl.

Nevertheless, he bent once, and in an easy slide of his hands, had picked all of them up and thrown them haphazardly into the bag. Nanao watched for a moment through dumbfounded eyes, lips parted, until Atobe faced her and nudged upwards at her chin to close her mouth. "Stop looking so stupid; I don't need people thinking I'm dating a fish."

Nanao's throat made a vaguely insulted sound.

"Come on – are you so slow?"

Nanao blinked once, twice, before- "Keigo- where are we going? Class is starting soon-"

Atobe rolled his eyes impatiently. "_Exactly._ That's why we have to go, right now. Come."

He picked up his own bag. He wrapped a secure hand around Nanao's wrist and tugged her along headfirst down the row of desks – he paused just by the doorway and managed to give their watching classmates a trademark smirk, and as he pulled her into the hall, Nanao could hear the swoons of both girls and boys.

Nanao never had been too good at catching onto things quickly; for a few seconds, she numbly followed along, her wrist still held in Atobe's iron grip. With a frown and a blink back into reality, she shook her arm stubbornly. "Where are we going? Keigo, we have to get back to class-"

At the end of the hall, Atobe abruptly stopped. He spun on one heel, hand still on Nanao's wrist; it was such a sudden movement that Nanao stumbled a step backwards, blinking. "Do I really have to spell it out for you? We're _ditching_," he rolled his eyes, as though Nanao were the unreasonable half of the pair.

At that, Nanao's eyes widened to the size of saucers. It took her a few more seconds to process the words, and by the time she realized it, Atobe had already tugged her down the stairwell and into the courtyard. "Wait, Keigo- I can't ditch! _We_ can't ditch-" But her protests fell on deaf ears, and Atobe simply proceeded to drag her along, across the empty courtyard and into the parking lot. Her heels clattered onto the pavement.

Nanao's frown grew deeper by the second, until her forehead practically ached at all the lines scrawled across her pale skin.

It was only when Atobe came to a stop beside a sleek – impossible gorgeous, practically sparkling under the sunlight – convertible car, with the roof already collapsed back and hidden beneath a metal panel, that Nanao found all protests dying on her tongue. Cream leather seats gleamed from inside, as though they'd been wiped and wiped until someone's arms shook. She took a minute to swallow the sight of the car, before turning to face Atobe – who was in the midst of promptly tossing in their bags into the middle.

Nanao, with a horrified gaze, scrambled to retrieve them. "Keigo! What are you doing- what if the owner of this car comes back? And, we can't _ditch_- are you crazy? I just-"

Atobe continued to ignore her, however, and proceeded instead to pull out a small black contraption from his trouser pockets; Nanao paused in an attempt to decipher what it is. In the next moment, though, the answer was provided for her – when Atobe's finger pressed on a button on the black box, and she heard an audible click from the car in front of her. A mixture of horror, and awe, made itself pronounced on her expression – one that Atobe took far too much pleasure in.

He slid into the driver's seat of the car with poignant, palpable glee, and Nanao gripped at the side of the car with half trembling fingers. "This is _yours_?" she managed to ask, then, finally finding her voice where she'd left it about two minutes back.

Atobe had slipped on a pair of black sunglasses, then, and a smirk greeted her.

A squeak fluttered past her lips before she could stop it. "A _Lamborghini?_" she half screeched – though careful to keep her voice down, in the paranoia that perhaps a teacher would come outside to catch them.

Atobe gave her an aghast look. "You are butchering that pronunciation, you peasant," he replied smoothly, as though entirely unperturbed by Nanao's expression of growing disbelief.

Nanao, in the meantime, had taken to temporarily skipping over the fact that Keigo had _manhandled_ her out of the building, all for the intent of ditching – to focus on the fact that he was in possession of a _Lamborghini convertible car._ Forgetting the fact that she hadn't even been aware that he drove, what kind of eighteen year old had a-

"Nanao. Just get in."

Nanao's grip tightened on the edge of the car door. "But- I can't ditch! I don't want it going on my record-"

"Yuushi's taking care of it. Now _get in_. Gods, you act like someone who's never ditched before."

For a moment, Nanao considered asking what it meant when he said that Oshitari-kun would 'take care of it.' But then, considering the fact that the entire string of regulars seemed to live life as the fancy struck them, all laws of the world and physics be damned, she didn't exactly want to know how they went about rectifying their records after ditching. Most likely because she didn't think it'd exactly be _legal_ in the end, and that she'd much rather not know.

Nanao's lips tightened.

At that, Atobe peered at her incredulously over the rim of his sunglasses. "You've never ditched." He says it like a statement, not a question, and there's a hint of disbelief gracing his words.

Nanao's cheeks flush, then. "Well- it's not a _bad_ thing not to have ditched!" She protested. Just as she said so, the bell in the clocktower rang, signaling the end of break and the start of Greek class.

Atobe rested one hand on the steering wheel casually. "You can either get in, or go back now – and try to come up with a plausible answer when Takamura-sensei asks why you're late from break, and from where." He paused. "Oh, and I'm not giving your bag back, by the way." A smug smirk.

Nanao bounces nervously, shiftily on her heels, and bit her lip as the _clack clack clack _ of pavement meeting feet fluttered to her ears. She took a glance at the school building, at her book bag sitting beside Atobe, and finally- at the incorrigible smirk still burgeoning across his lips. Insufferable, spoiled brat who drives a freaking-

"Why do you even have this car at school? Doesn't your chauffeur drive you here?" she blurted, still biting her lip. Atobe rolled his eyes at her attempt to stall for time.

"I sent a message to my driver just now, telling him to deliver my car."

Nanao wants to ask how he managed to message the driver during class, how his driver managed to bring the car over so quickly, without anyone noticing. She wants to ask how on earth his father let him have a Lamborghini (before remembering that what Keigo wants, Keigo gets, so long as he can perform up to par). She wants to ask when the hell he got his license. She wants to ask how Oshitari-kun is going to 'take care of it,' but then she doesn't want to know anyway. She wants to know where they're going to go. She wants to know why they're ditching at all, and why Keigo has chosen to take her, and not Oshitari-kun. She wants to know a billion other things, but-

But Nanao's already made her decision, then, and she scampers into the passenger side of the car and tries to ignore Atobe's laughter as he kicks the engine into gear.

* * *

They pass the first ten minutes in silence, broken only by the whipping sound of the wind rushing past their heads, combing through Atobe's hair so that he looks like a Greek god, tangling through her own so that she looks like an escapee from a mental facility. They're speeding incredibly quickly down some street, mostly empty because it's the middle of a weekday; Atobe drives like a professional, one hand on the wheel, and shifts them onto an equally empty highway full of empty stretches of beige pavement.

Nanao glanced to the side-

-and squinted, unsure if she was seeing things correctly.

"Keigo," she manages to say, over the roar of the wind.

Atobe quirks a brow at her, though he doesn't take his eyes off the road.

"…Are your windows tinted?"

"Of course," is the reply, in a tone that implies that Nanao is ridiculous for even asking such an obvious question.

Nanao can't help but to ask "…Why?"

Atobe's expression morphs into one of bafflement – as though it's entirely ridiculous and should be obvious why. "Next you're going to ask me why the car is bulletproof," he mutters, in a ridiculing tone.

A pause.

"It's bulletproof?!"

* * *

It's after thirty more minutes when Atobe finally pulls to a smooth stop, as though he's done this hundreds of times before. They've left the pavement of manmade highways, and instead, there's a small stretch of gravel underneath their feet; Nanao's never been here before, but it's a small area right beside the highway, several hundred feet above the beach below – and before them, is the endless stretch of ocean.

It's picturesque, and at this height, it almost feels as though they're on a _cliff_. The beach is empty save for a few stragglers, and despite the stickiness in the air that always accompanies the seaside, Nanao can't help but to beam at the sparkling blue waters and the idle white clouds.

She wants to know, in the back of her mind, how Keigo always seems to know incredibly amazing hideouts – like a villain from a comic series. Or perhaps a superhero? She'd yet to decide.

But then, the two are leaning against the side of the car, side by side, and Nanao has to squint against the sun while Atobe looks smoothly on from behind his shades. Another few minutes pass in silence, save for the squawks of seagulls and the rush of the ocean, and then-

-all at once, Nanao understands.

She understands why Atobe has ditched with her – or rather, ditched _for_ her. She understands why he had his driver deliver his car to school, why he seemingly randomly plucked her out of the classroom and dropped her in his ridiculously incredible car and drove them out here.

Some say that Atobe Keigo is ridiculously spoiled, to the point where no human should ever be spoiled. And Nanao would heartily agree, taking note of the warm Lamborghini that's still humming against her skin. Others would say that he's a god, sent down as a gift to mortals from the heavens above – Atobe preens at that particular analogy, and Nanao laughs. And as selfish and willful and completely arrogant as Keigo is, as intimidating and larger-than-life as he comes off as – he's still always, always there for all the people who've been lucky enough to be considered by him as a friend.

To the point where he'd play hooky without a second thought, so he could cheer up a friend even without knowing the reason why she was down.

Nanao now has to bite her lip to keep back the wide grin that's threatening to split her face.

She nudges his shoulder. "Thanks," she says, without glancing at him.

Atobe glances at her, and rolls his eyes. He nudges back. "You're silly."

Nanao laughs.

* * *

"I don't like her."

"…Welcome to my humble abode?"

Atobe had already swept into Oshitari's room the moment the other boy opened the door at his imperious knocking, with hardly a spared glance at the boy himself. The maids had long since grown accustomed to Atobe's constant presence around the Oshitari household, and he was given free access to the building as though he were a member of the family himself.

Atobe draped himself along Oshitari's sofa, and the blue-haired boy came up beside him, eyes dancing with amusement.

"And who is it that you dislike so much? Suzuki-san?"

Atobe shot him a dry glance. "Don't feign ignorance – it's unbecoming."

"Oh dear, my bleeding heart aches."

"But you know who I'm talking about."

Oshitari laughed, before seating himself elegantly upon a chair. "Minako?"

"Yes."

"Why not?"

Atobe scowled. "Ore-sama does not need a reason to detest peasants."

"Her parents are actually quite wealthy – but you know that. Who's the one who said that feigning ignorance isn't attractive?"

"Don't you dare imply that Ore-sama is _ever_ unattractive."

"Your severe dislike of her is completely unfounded, you know. You're just petulant that she didn't go moony-eyed over you the first time you two met."

An insulted sound from the back of Atobe's throat. "The wench actually dared to ask- 'Oh, so _you're_ Atobe-kun?'" A sniff. "It's Atobe-_sama_ to a wench like _her._"

Wench. There was that century-confused vocabulary, rearing its ugly head.

"I quite like her caustic wit – it's charming."

"It's about as charming as that atrocious, perverse smile you have whenever you see a pretty pair of legs."

"Oh, do stop with the compliments. I blush, Keigo."

Atobe's scowl deepened. "I don't understand why you have such a fixation on her-"

A pointed look at Atobe, from Oshitari.

"-she's not even _realistically human_, Yuushi. What kind of person is so disgustingly _perfect_?"

"So you think she's perfect?"

"Yes. In a bad way."

"…How is she perfect in a _bad_ way?"

"Tennis, ballet, studies, modeling- for fuck's sakes, Yuushi, is there anything that monster _doesn't_ do?"

"Language, Keigo."

"What kind of person is so horrifyingly perfect?"

At that point, Oshitari summoned a pointed look directed straight at Atobe, the self-proclaimed _idol_ of Hyotei, who did all the aforementioned activities, and _more._ Well, sans ballet, but he tangoed well enough to make anyone question whether he was truly only eighteen, so really, it was a give and take. Atobe noticed the stare, and an insufferable smirk bloomed on lips, as he proceeded to do something Oshitari liked to call _preening._

"Of course, _Ore-sama_ defies all human standards. Of course Ore-sama is divinely perfect, in every imaginable way-" Atobe's smirk left his face. "-but _she_ has no excuse for being so perfect. It's not natural. There must be something horribly wrong with her."

Oshitari remained silent this time, struggling to keep the highly amused smile from his lips.

Since when, he wants to ask, has anyone needed an _excuse_ to be perfect?

"Perhaps a traumatic incident? Or a horrifically abusive father, or perhaps she's a _boy_, Yuushi, pretending to be a girl. She might even be some government spy – or a government _robot_-"

Oshitari chuckled out loud, then, effectively cutting off Atobe's increasingly ridiculous scenarios. "I think you're describing a Mary Sue now, Keigo."

Atobe gave him an artfully crafted expression – one that screamed the word '_Exactly_,' dripping with smug arrogance. "That's precisely my point, Yuushi."

And then, Oshitari gained a deeply pensive look on his features – one that unnerved Atobe. After a moment- "You know, given how _perfect_ you both are, you ought to consider – perhaps she's your secret, long lost twin?"

Atobe's expression grew into one of such horror at the possibility, that Oshitari's shoulders shook with the tremors of his silent laughter.

* * *

**REVIEW REPLIES**

Mumismatist – Can I just say that I adored your review – because you got _exactly_ what I was aiming for. While I have paired Atobe up with a spunky girl before, sometimes, you feel as though that there's more to him than the diva, something that needs someone calmer to soothe out his outrageous personality. And I am attempting to make a realistic transition from friends to perhaps something more, and also trying to reflect that you can have more-than-platonic moments if your friendship carries that vibe – which, given the strange circumstances that Nanao and Keigo met in, makes perfect sense. LSDKJFLSK I just adored your review and read it three times okay gahd I LOVE YOU THANK YOU I APPRECIATE YOU.

DisilludedNight – Ahhh thank you! I was hoping to portray how close they were. Hehe.

Maria-Reynne – I love you for your reviews, darling. The more reviews I get from you, the happier I get. Hehe.

Leogirl321 – Oh gosh, thanks a lot. Tbh, IAG is my favorite story at the moment. Haha.

Ace1queen – Oh, I know right? Atobe's so hilariously clueless, but he tries hard. HAHA. We all love Atobe. Who doesn't? Thanks for reviewing~

Vivvy09 – Eee, thanks. I was hoping it'd be a little realistic.

Shubhs – Girl. You and I both. Who doesn't want Keigo. Seriously. sLKfJLKSDF.

XxLeopardPrintxX – LOL I know you love Oshitari, girl, but we all love Atobe. Egad. Tough love, tough love.

Xxyy1113 – Haha thanks!

Unknown player – hehe you're cute. Thanks bb. And that's how lovable Atobe always is. |D

Night Neko-Jin – LMAO isn't it? Atobe's always silly and larger than life that way, and I love writing him because it's such hilarious fun.

Slacker4life – Oh goodie. 8D I know that Oshitari is a running favorite, but I mean, really – he's got Minako-chan, and Atobe is just too perfect to pass up on. XD

Rilakkumadesu – Can I just say how much I adore your reviews? HAHA. Seriously though, I'm so glad that you understood what I was trying to capture about Atobe's personality. Ohoho.

Sarah – Aweh, thank yous, thank yous. ^.^

DaphneAnimeGirl – ATOBE IS SWEET, HUH. GOD I JUST WANT HIM FOR MYSELF. Hahahaha. Thanks for reviewing, and I'm glad you like it. 8)

Fhclause – Hehe, thank you. I think my chapters are getting longer these days.

SunnyDorangejuice – Haha, oh gosh, I always love reading your reviews. They're always so long. And HAHA omg I know exactly the feeling you're talking about – I always get embarrassed on behalf of other characters in tv series and stuff too! HAHA ohmg I'm glad you feel it for my poor little Nana. ; A ;

The human principle – LOLOL omg I seriously laughed ridiculously hard at your review. I'm so glad you find my writing humorous. HAHA. And oh, did it sound awkward? Hahaha my bad, I tend to use that phrase a lot, so I couldn't tell. And I seriously love your reviews right back atcha! Haha.

KL93 – HAHA is he really oblivious, though? 8'D

Justgowithit – Ohmg, stop flattering me like that. My ego. It cannot. But seriously, thank you for always reviewing, and I'm glad that my portrayal of their friendship is getting across to the readers. Hehe.

EmeraldLily7918 – Hehe thanks – you know I always appreciate your input!

Explodingsushi15 – Eee I know. It's such a tough decision, isn't it? HAHA. And thank you, thank you, I try.

Surugasasa – LMAO it is, isn't it? Silly Keigo.

Fyeri – FYERI GIRL YOU KNOW I LOVE YOU. OKAY. I SAY THIS ALL THE FREAKING TIME I DON'T KNOW WHAT ELSE YOU WANT FROM ME. LOL. Okay, but no seriously – stop flattering me like that because it makes me blush because your writing intimidates me and I can't take the compliments from you, okay. And dude I totally know what you mean by too many italics; I have a severe problem. I'm working on it, I promise. LOL.

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READ. REVIEW. LOVE?


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